


The Darkest Hour

by Luthienberen



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cancer, First Time, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 06:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The headaches and constant nausea had been easy to ignore, despite the whispers of doubt sneaking through Nick’s head. Even Monroe’s concerns were simpler to dismiss than face his symptoms… right up to the point he collapsed. Rushed to hospital Nick hears the shattering news.</p><p>The diagnosis is cancer.</p><p>Swallowed by despair, Nick discovers how many lives he has touched, especially the life of one Wesen: Monroe. Together the odds don’t sound so bad, if they just can acknowledge what their friendship really means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Darkest Hour

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in response to [“Nick has Cancer”](http://grimm-kink.dreamwidth.org/1735.html?thread=446663#cmt446663) prompt on the Dreamwidth Grimm_Kink Meme. I have cleaned it up a little before posting here. Cross-posted to A03 & FF.NET. Spoilers for Season 1 in general, particularly the first seven episodes.
> 
> 2.) Please note that this story deals with cancer and has quite a bit of angst involved. If the topic makes you uncomfortable please do not read any further. There are more in-depth story notes at the end.
> 
> 3.) Beta-read by the marvellous rae_fa.

 

 

Nick jerked awake gasping for breath. Shit the pain was bad. It was so intense that it had awoken him from a deep sleep.

Barely able to think Nick fell out of bed, tried standing only for his legs to tremble and collapse underneath him as ripples of agony spread from his head to limbs weakened from probably hours of shivering while he slept.

Too afraid to try again, (and how mortifying is that when you have faced Wesen without blinking and whom whisper how you are their personal bogeyman?), Nick resorted to crawling. All he could focus on was reaching the bathroom to vomit the ball of blackness that was currently consuming his mind into the toilet.

Finally, with an effort that seemed to cause his entire body to scream, Nick managed to reach the blessed cool relief of his bathroom tiles and with one last supreme try, hauled his body up the toilet just in time to hurl the entire contents of his stomach.

Every single heave ignited jabbing fingers of fire in his brain soliciting a private firework display until at last, after an eternity there was nothing remaining, not even dry retching.

Too exhausted to even sob Nick sagged over the open toilet, thoughts so scrambled that he couldn’t gather the wherewithal to flush the damn toilet! Heck the stench wasn’t enough of a motivator because by this time Nick was beyond caring. He merely drifted in a miasma of pain and exhaustion.

Slowly however, life filtered back into Nick’s universe: the early morning cry of birds, the soft gusting of the breeze through the trees outside the house and the pale golden rays of the rising sun gently slanting in through his net curtains.

As awareness stirred Nick wrinkled his nose. _What is that..?_

Lifting his leaden head Nick twisted and gazed down and if possible would have retched. Instead, he successfully scrabbled at the handle and flushed away the remnants of last night.

Tearing away from the offending device, Nick attempted to stand. His legs protested but the horrific agony of last night had vanished just as swiftly as it had arrived, leaving only phantom traces: the vomit, the putrid smell and well, his general feeling like he had gone a round with a Jägerbär and had only survived through luck – or Monroe.

_Monroe._

That thought was sufficient to spur Nick into the shower and turn the taps. He needed to see Monroe before work today. It wasn’t simply Grimm related either; Nick genuinely wanted to visit Monroe.

Heck, the guy was the only one who really knew what Nick did anymore and who actually knew who Nick was. Nick would never admit this to anyone, but it was terribly lonely being a Grimm and concealing his identity from everyone around him.

The process of changing into a Grimm had been scary and confusing. It still was bewildering and having Monroe there was a miracle Nick could barely begin to comprehend, let alone put into words.

The comfort Monroe offered with his sarcasm, his enthusiasm, well…with his utter focus and dedication usually reserved for clock-making was a relief. He wasn’t alone.

Here was someone who understood or at least knew what he was undergoing with losing his aunt and inheriting such a dark and all-consuming legacy.

Nick groaned as revelation struck. Gently (for his head was sore), Nick rested his forehead against the slick shower wall and fought for breath, for strength.

_Great, my closest friend is a Blutbad; a creature my aunt would insist I hunt down._

Aunt Marie was rolling in her grave Nick just knew it. The image actually made him laugh, an act he regretted as the aches intensified briefly ere settling into the dull black mass that always lurked these days at the rear of his head.

Determined to cast off his sudden gloom in the wake of his profound realisation Nick shut off the spray and dried himself as quickly as his drained body allowed.

Weaving unsteadily back into his bedroom Nick retrieved his clothing on the way. He sat on the covers of the bed, forcing stubborn muscles to slip on clothing.

He deliberately did not dwell on the night’s events.  Nick concentrated on battling with his underpants and trousers.

Yet, the echoes of his worship of the white bowl in the bathroom haunted him. Nick squeezed his eyes closed and thought desperately of how he was going to approach the Captain with whatever information Monroe dredged up on this occasion.

It was tricky considering how under the weather he was feeling, but frankly anything was better than thinking about the pain and what had caused it. After all, he was just tired right? His life the past few months were straight from the worst soap opera titled ‘nothing like this would happen in real life’, yet it had and did. Life was truly stranger than fiction.

Nick released a small cry of triumph as he successfully yanked on his shirt. Rising he didn’t bother doing more than running a hand through his hair. It was too great an effort to run a comb through the errant locks.

Somehow he navigated the stairs and entered his kitchen.

Reaching for the kettle Nick hissed as his headache flared. Forget that, he switched to finding his painkillers. Fumbling in one of the cabinets Nick located his pack and grimaced at how much of the foil was ripped open. He had been taking an awful lot recently…but it was nothing, just an ordinary result of his life recently…Really, being a cop was difficult and complicated sometimes. Add being a Grimm to that? Oh yes, ‘complicated’ was an understatement.

Among other things, how could he explain to Hank, his partner, that all of a sudden he had this destiny to track the supernatural and that was why some of their most recent cases were so damn weird?

Glancing around the empty kitchen Nick sighed. This Grimm business had already claimed his girlfriend. Juliette, beautiful, loving and clever had finally walked.

It had happened gradually, though the signs had been there along the way. Their relationship had faded away under the strain of his new life; from the secrecy, from the lies until all that was remained was worn, like the ink in the books of his ancestors.

Nick understood it had begun when his aunt first re-appeared in his life, yet foolishly he had believed he could somehow keep his old life – being a cop and boyfriend – separate from his new life: being a Grimm and all that entailed.

However, the new responsibilities were too much, his ancestors had etched such a name of terror for themselves that even the innocent harmless Wesen or the reformed ones like Monroe, lived – _breathed_ – in trepidation of a Grimm. And that was plain wrong.

Nick was determined to be different – a new Grimm; one that did not kill innocent Wesen on sight simply because they weren’t human. All his police training infused Nick Burkhardt with the grim (ha!) knowledge with the sad fact that humans could be pretty monstrous too, and without the ‘excuse’ that they were ‘other’.

No, poor Juliette had had no idea what was happening to her boyfriend, what was transforming him in her esteem. This was driven home by the quaking fridge repair ‘man’, Bud, who upon realising that Nick was a Grimm was too frightened to do more than flee.

Nick filled a glass with water and swallowed two pills, futilely attempting to wash away the persistent throbbing.

Nick was honest, it hadn’t helped that he had been rather amused by Bud’s terror, but his other face was too cute! _Please don’t let Monroe hear me say that…_

Juliette’s questioning was easy to deflect at first, however, when Bud returned and essentially pleaded with her to beg Nick not to kill him or his family…yeah, shrugging and pleading ignorance? Not a very convincing argument for innocence.

Juliette certainly agreed with that. The doubt in her expression confirmed it.

Yet what else was Nick supposed to have done? Declare he was a descendent of the Grimm brothers, that the fairy tales they had written about were in fact real? That now dear, sweet, old Aunt Marie was dead – and by the way darling, she was a fearsome hunter whom Wesen regarded as the monster under the bed – it was his duty, his _destiny_ , to pursue the bad ones and kill them?

No, Nick hadn’t been able to bear the thought of confiding such to his wonderful Juliette, only to watch as her compassionate eyes filled with worry. Such a confession would simply result in a plea for psychiatric treatment.  Heck, if it hadn’t been for what he had witnessed Nick would be debating the same course of action.

Nick rubbed his temples and moved unenthusiastically to the counter to rustle up breakfast. That was another aspect of this recent mess (it _wasn’t_ sickness). His appetite was poor at best. Most mornings (and progressively afternoons and suppertime) he could hardly bear more than a bowl of porridge – or anything that didn’t possess a pungent aroma.

He cracked open a window to deal with any cooking fumes.

His weariness and decreasing desire for food hadn’t been aided by Juliette’s insistent questioning of where he increasingly spent his time and why. Matters had come to a head when Hank, upon being confronted with Juliette had confirmed that Nick wasn’t spending those hours with him.

Thankfully, Hank hadn’t chased the matter much when Nick had mumbled an excuse involving informants. Nick just did not know how to explain Monroe to his partner.

Juliette hadn’t been so forgiving.

Again, Nick was in the position of explaining Monroe, but how to do that? How to explain with whom he was whiling away the seconds with, as the blutbad’s clocks ticked along their groove? Simply revealing how they met – _I accused him of being a child snatcher_ \- was a minefield.

How do you explain why you changed your mind and then proceeded to develop a relationship with said accused? A relationship initially based on false charges, then need and want (and Nick had badly needed Monroe’s help with the Grimm stuff, still did) and now, with the still tentative moment, genuine friendship.

Nick liked to think that Monroe wanted and needed him too, maybe not as much as Nick had first required the blutbad’s services, but with the desire to do good, to prove he was a different man to the one he had once been – even if he protested at each step.

So, yes, in the end, all this inability to explain what was happening, what he was doing, what he was _becoming_ led to their relationship peeling apart until Juliette one day sweetly kissed him, gazed at him with sorrow, but already with the shadows of their former love and trust haunting her beautiful features and understanding he wouldn't (couldn’t) fight for them, announced she was moving out, leaving.

In the course of a month she was gone, not a trace of her in the house, just memories. Juliette had moved in with friends, while he stayed, surrounded with the danger of his new life…and Monroe.

So was it any wonder with all that humongous upheaval and resultant stress that he was suffering from pretty bad headaches and loss of appetite? Nope, hardly astonishing at all.

The noisy flapping of bird wings jolted Nick from his morose contemplations and he snorted. All this contemplation was bad for one’s health.

Banishing his poisonous thoughts and the underlying unease of his condition Nick hurried through an awkward breakfast and pouring himself some camomile tea into a flask – he had been reduced to drinking herbal tea the past fortnight, too sickened by the heavy smell and taste of coffee, but at least camomile tea relaxed him.

Locking the house Nick trotted to his car happy that the medication was beginning to work. Within seconds he was starting the engine and pulling out of the drive.

 

**~ * ~**

Nick parked his car outside Monroe’s and took a second to compose himself. He felt better than he had when he first woke, yet he couldn’t shake his lethargy. This state of weariness was becoming almost constant. No doubt his friend would interrogate him about it.

Amused by the image of a nagging Monroe, the Blutbad was such a caring soul (evidence, babysitting a fresh Grimm and looking after Holly), Nick climbed out of the car.

Walking, (jogging was out of the question), up the drive and steps Nick knocked.

“Come in Nick!”

Nick rolled his eyes. Sheesh, was he that predictable? He asked as he entered, pushing the door shut behind him.

“Hey Monroe, how did you know it was me? You could have had a nasty surprise from a fellow Blutbad.”

His friend snorted as he met Nick in the cluttered living room. “You mean besides the obvious? I smelled you Nick, and further more believe me, Grimm’s have a particular scent underneath the normal human pheromone make-up.

“Oh, and of course not forgetting that you’re pretty much the _only_ visitor I have? Doesn’t take a genius or a cop to figure out who’s hammering on my door at seven thirty in the morning.”

Monroe was laughing by now.

Nick protested, “Funny Monroe, pick on the defenceless Grimm.”

Monroe’s brown eyes went incredulous. “Defenceless? Oh, we are going to have to work on your come-backs Nick.” Suddenly his brown eyes darkened, his features sharpening slightly. Nick felt a sliver of unease slide into his soul.

“What?”

His friend leaned closer, sniffing. “Talking of scent… you smell different.”

Nick chuckled nervously. “Different? I thought you said you recognised my scent a moment ago? Slipping Monroe?”

His friend scowled, eyes flashing a deadly red before returning to their brown colour, yet darker than usual.

“I’m not messing Nick. You _do_ smell different from normal. You have done for a while.”

Frustration smouldered inside Nick. He pushed past his friend and sank onto his comfortable brown sofa. He restrained from rubbing his hands so Monroe wouldn’t notice his sudden nerves, though it was probably useless when his friend was a Blutbad and apparently could scent any changes in his mood.

The cushions dipped as Monroe settled next to him. Realising he couldn’t escape Nick reluctantly faced Monroe.

“So?”

Monroe raised an eyebrow. How about ‘what the hell are you smelling?!?’”

Nick smirked. “I think you’re being a mother hen. Don’t you remember what we did last night? We hit the bar quite heavily and the beer flowed right down our throats.” Seeing his friend still was unconvinced, Nick persisted. “I don’t know about you, but I drank maybe too much. Actually, I definitely did - spent this morning vomiting my sins. You didn’t?”

Monroe shook his head.

“No? Great, must be a Blutbad thing. Well, anyway, this mere human suffered the consequences of too much beer and…hmmm…too much good companionship.” Nick smiled when he saw that Monroe was pleased to be called ‘good companionship’. It was the plain honest truth.

“Right,” Nick clutched Monroe’s arm, secretly soothed by the firm reassurance of his friend’s presence, of the Blutbad’s burning warmth and muscle. “You’re smelling nothing more than that. Agree?”

“No.” Nick’s heart sank at Monroe’s response.

“No,” repeated Monroe. Intent, Monroe leant forward, crowding Nick against the corner of the plush sofa.

Nick was aware of how close they were, how Monroe’s breath played across his mouth, his chin. The press of Monroe’s larger body a solid weight along his left leg and side. He was certain that his heart-rate must be pounding like drums in a rock & roll concert.

So dazzled was he by these sensations Nick almost missed Monroe’s next words.

“If everything is hunky dory then you won’t mind if I have a closer try…”

Nick met the challenge in the brown stare and nodded, too afraid to speak…why?

Blatantly satisfied with his acquiescence Monroe pressed even closer so there was no gap. Nick was turned until his back met the sofa arm and he was stretched out underneath Monroe. He felt his friend’s weight settle along his body, Nick’s legs automatically opening so Monroe could slip in-between.

Monroe’s chest rested on his, though he could feel the bunched muscles as Monroe strove not to drop his entire weight on Nick. Then, as Nick watched in a mixture of trepidation and excitement…

_Wait, excitement? Damn!_

…Monroe’s features shifted. The eyes bled scarlet and his face became more angular, fur sprouting and his beard turning more ragged. Yet Nick experienced no fear, just awe at being so near his friend’s transformation, at being trusted with this facet of a blutbad’s nature. _Sorry, Aunt_ _Marie._

Then Monroe’s head dipped and Nick’s mind froze. All he could do was feel.

Torturously slow Monroe pushed his nose against the column of Nick’s neck. The Grimm could discern from the rapid breath that his friend was fighting instinct. Determined to display his complete faith in Monroe, he was after all a reformed Blutbad, Nick titled his head without being asked, baring his vulnerable flesh to his friend.

Monroe snarled and Nick’s stomach clenched yet he did not dare move, not even blink. The ticking of Monroe’s clocks filled the tense atmosphere. At this angle Nick could see one of them, a beautiful antique, all carved dark polished wood, the face alone exquisite in detail. It reminded Nick of the fairy tales of his ancestors.

The pressure at his throat increased and the sensation of Monroe inhaling in and out onto his flushed skin made Nick grin. “Foolish Grimm,” was the strangled mutter.

Gesture accepted.

Monroe shifted, dragging his nose up, down and across Nick’s neck, all the time breathing in. When Monroe tested the shallow dip at the base of his throat Nick couldn’t help but yelp. It was ticklish. Immediately hands tipped with claws clamped down on him, one on an arm, the other gripping a leg.

“Don’t move! This is…temptation…” Hot breaths tickled his skin.

Nick hardly dared swallow. “I trust you,” he replied, anxious to reassure his friend. Yet, Nick understood not to push the matter and stilled all movement, waiting for direction from Monroe.

Seconds were chopped away by the clocks uncaring of what was unfolding before them. Bit by bit Monroe relaxed and then he returned to his previous efforts. Now however, he transferred his attentions to Nick’s face.

His fur rubbed his sensitive cheeks and mouth as the Blutbad scented him. Nick shut his eyes unable to continue observing as he knew he would react. He was grateful for his friend’s unrelenting embrace.

Finally, Monroe’s examination was over and he licked Nick. Nick blinked and gazed in confusion up at Monroe. “Ummm….Monroe?” Nick could see quickly that at first his actions hadn’t registered with Monroe, which confirmed to Nick that the action was involuntary.

Horror clearly showed when knowledge dawned and Monroe recoiled, already beginning to stammer. However, Nick cut him off, not wishing to blow the event out of proportions.

“Hey, no need to explode Monroe. Blutbad instincts working overboard in this case okay?  I mean it was pretty intense.”

Nick halted as it occurred to him that they were still in a rather compromising situation. Monroe had loosened his tight grip and he was no longer pressed so closely against the cop, but Nick’s legs were still spread with Monroe hovering in-between and over Nick.

That changed in a heartbeat as Monroe wrenched himself up and practically fell off the sofa, while Nick hurriedly swung his legs down so he was once more sitting upright. He was hot, body tingling, embarrassment winging its path fully-fledged through him.

Trying for nonchalant Nick snorted, “Glad the guys didn’t witness that scene. I would never live it down. Hell, Hank & Wu would have a field day – I would dread what Wu would post on whatever social network he lurks on!”

His poor jab at humour was rewarded with a slight smile and the return of Monroe to his human visage. The obviously agitated Blutbad rose and paced.

“Something is wrong Nick.” He paused in his meanderings. Brown eyes caught and held his grey ones and Nick found it hard to breathe.

“Your scent is off. It is hard to describe. All I can say is that there feels like a taint in your sweat, on your flesh. Okay…” Monroe breathed heavily, closing his eyes, lips moving silently as he counted, striving for control.

“I sense a poison. Please Nick,” Monroe was suddenly in front of him, imploring features piercing right through Nick. “Please see a doctor.”

How do you deny that? Nick’s resolve cracked but did not shatter entirely. He truthfully didn’t think it was serious, though Monroe’s behaviour disturbed him and caused doubt to take insidious root. He decided on meeting his friend half-way.

“Monroe, I appreciate – am flattered – for your concern. I swear I will see a doctor, but not yet.” Silencing any arguments ere they were voiced, Nick said, “Just one more day Monroe, I promise. If by tomorrow I don’t feel or smell right then I’ll walk into that doctor’s surgery with no resistance whatsoever. Happy?”

The stiff set of Monroe’s shoulders declared he wasn’t fully, yet he nodded. “Okay, tomorrow morning after my Pilates we’re heading to the doctor’s.”

Nick opened his mouth and received a glare tinged with red. “No buts Nick,” said Monroe in a no-nonsense tone. “I’m coming with. Your personal escort to the emergency clinic.”

Nick sighed but knew there was no point in arguing. Instead he focused on easing the tension and suggested Monroe has some coffee. Nick would take the nauseating stench of the thick brew over the awkward stand-off.

 

**~ * ~**

In the end Nick lingered for another hour before leaving for work. He had agreed to stay the night since Monroe was set on escorting him to the doctor’s the following day. Admittedly he had brazenly announced his impromptu sleep-over and while Monroe had grumbled about intrusive Grimms Nick knew his friend was secretly happy and relieved that he would stay. It meant he wouldn’t run or wriggle out of tomorrow’s appointment.

Not that Nick would do that to Monroe, no matter his opinion on the endeavour.

Stumbling into the building Nick winced. Maybe Monroe was correct in his assertions? No, he couldn’t be.

Casting off his worries Nick tiredly entered the room where he was stationed and was assaulted by the noisy activities of his colleagues.

“Hey Nick!”

Nick smiled. Hank was waving wildly at him. Seemed as the day would be an interesting one.

“Yes Hank? Where’s the fire?” he asked as he slipped onto his chair, barley succeeding in not collapsing onto it. Carefully he shrugged off his jacket.

Hank sneered. “Yeah, yeah, hilarious Nick. You may laugh, but the Captain has called us into his office for ten. Personally, I think it has to do with our case.”

Nick frowned. “But why? We don’t actually have anything concrete yet.”

“You mean your brilliant informant is unable to ply us with answers?”

“Pardon?”

Hank snorted. “Don’t be an idiot Nick. I have noticed how frequently you vanish to re-appear miraculously bearing leads to our latest string of cases. I don’t know what’s going on, but a little trust in your partner would be appreciated.”

Nick hesitated. The fierce yearning to tell all to Hank was startling. Nick briefly struggled with his misgivings on revealing the truth and settled on a halfway deal.

“I’m…I’m not visiting an informant.” At Hanks’ confusion, Nick barrelled onwards. “I’m visiting a friend.”

“Friend? You mean you’re telling a _civilian_ about our cases? Are you insane Nick?!” Hank spat the last out as he leant over the desk so no-one would overhear them.

“He isn’t wholly a civilian,” defended Nick. “He just has his ears to the ground and knows how to read the streets. His instincts are second to none. I swear Hank, if you understood him you would be genuinely impressed.”

Nick stared keenly at Hank, willing him to grasp what Nick couldn’t express openly in the office.

His partner returned his gaze, concern and disbelief colouring his expression. Eventually Hank said softly, “I think this is more than friendship but I trust you Nick so I’ll leave it at that – for the moment.”

Nick wondered what Hank meant by that statement and would have asked if not for Sergeant Wu appearing with a sheaf of paperwork.

 

**~ * ~**

By ten Nick was freezing. His body was numb with cold, fingers stiff and clumsy when he gripped files and unresponsive when he typed. He had already polished off his thermos of camomile tea with Hank shooting him ‘what’s up with you?’ glances. He couldn’t very well whinge and scarper off to rustle up more herbal tea.

He was fortunate that Hank believed his sudden health kick instead of badgering him why the sudden distaste for coffee. The misery of his earlier headache had also re-surfaced with a vengeance.

Nick was torn. At present he could just about function, however, if the pain continued to worsen? He would be crippled. Bile rose as he caught the whiff of someone’s bacon sandwich.

Alarmed he might lose it Nick staggered to his feet muttering apologies to a bewildered Hank and said he needed the bathroom _now_ , swearing to return ASAP.

By a stroke of luck Nick reached the toilets without incident, which were mercifully vacant. Slumping in a cubicle Nick fought to regain equilibrium. Shaky minutes later Nick admitted to himself he required help.

There was no way he could survive the day without further soothing camomile tea and extremely strong painkillers. He also realised there was only one person he could call.

Nick groaned. He hated to show weakness, especially after all his insistences he was well. _Pride cometh before a fall_ , whispered his thoughts. Unbending his mulish attitude Nick pulled out his cell and dialled. Right now it was more important that he could function.

Nick waited impatiently for the pick-up.

“Hello?”

“Hi Monroe, it’s Nick. I need your help.”

 

**~ * ~**

He couldn’t hang around in the lobby waiting for Monroe; he had to be in Captain Renard’s office as of ten minutes ago.

Dashing as much as he was able, Nick snagged his leather jacket on the way, a breath of relief gushing out as he slid into it, zipping up and locking in warmth.

He darted into the office under Captain Renard’s cool eyes.

“Nice you could join us Detective.”

Nick winced at the acid tone and instantly apologised. “Sorry Sir.” _Keep it short and they won’t have room to question you_ , whispered Nick’s police training. He hoped it would work with Captain Renard who was most definitely sharper than most.

As it was, the urgency of the case saved him.

Frowning and obviously still displeased by Nick’s tardiness and distinctly lacklustre response the Captain turned back to his desk and picked up a file.

“We have had further information on the homicide you’re investigating.”

A surge of hope welled briefly inside Nick before the pain slashed at him making him barely conceal his flinch. Shit, it was growing worse. _Where the hell are you Monroe?_

Breathing through the increasingly distracting pounding in his head Nick forced himself to speak. “Has there been another death Sir?” He prayed not, he hadn’t stuck around to ask Monroe about the case after their little…scene? Hell, Nick was unsure what to call their shenanigans this morning.

Whatever it was, it had meant that Nick was anxious to escape and had forgotten to question Monroe about the odd aspects of the case. Namely, why all these men had willingly left with a strange woman - some happily married men – and each time it was a lady whose appearance was described differently. Not simply different but wildly so: short, tall, thin, large, dark, flaxen haired, large eyes, small eyes and so on.

Surely it was impossible that they had a flock of women picking off men? Yet the alternative was one woman who could put the most talented disguise artist to shame!

However, it was all the same, no matter how many women were responsible: each of these men wound up dead from some drug that forensics was still attempting to patch together and dumped on the edge of Forest Park.

It was extremely peculiar and the case had an aura that screamed ‘Grimm!’ Consequently, his Grimm senses were on alert.

“Thankfully no,” replied Captain Renard. A dark expression crossed his face. “However, it may prove useful. A new witness came forward late yesterday evening, demanding to see one of you. Since you both had already left I said I would see her.”

The Captain’s shoulders tensed, his burning gaze pinning them to their seats. Whatever the Captain said next would be important.

Nick could see out of the corner of his eye Hank raise an eyebrow at him. Hank was just as anxious as Nick now to hear what the witness had said.

Renard continued. “She hadn’t approached the police before now, as she hadn’t made the connection between what she had seen and our case. It wasn’t until she watched a news repeat that she realised she had witnessed our latest victim, Mr Mer, most likely in the last stages of his life.”

“Damn!” hissed Hank, excited.

Nick struggled not to allow his hopes to rise, this case had been so bewildering until now that he hardly dared believe they had stuck gold.

 “Yes,” acknowledged Renard. “She was returning home late, around midnight from a night shift in a corner shop. She was in the process of leaving her car when she spied Mr Mer and a woman, also in the motions of exiting a car. Mrs Bannerman – our witness – said she noticed them not because she didn’t recognise the gentleman, but because the woman was singing.”

Nick leaned forward, balanced precariously on his chair. “Captain, you said that Mrs Bannerman did not recognise Mr Mer. That implies she knew the woman…” _Singing? Okay, officially in the realm of fairy tales and Grimm business. I’m asking Monroe the minute he turns up._

Both men stared at him.

Hank had an expression of amazement on his face. “Er…Nick? Freaking singing and you **only** ask about her identity?

Nick tried to grin, yet the hot undercurrent of pain was progressing from his head and down his back and arms. Instead he almost whimpered. “I thought that didn’t need mentioning as it is a given in its weirdness.”  Why was it suddenly so difficult to breathe?

Hank simply rolled his eyes and huffed, “Right. Crazy partner.”

Renard meanwhile just assessed him carefully, a peculiar glint in his dark eyes. Nick was unsure how to read this odd emotion from his Captain and wondered if the sudden prickling over his back and legs was from caused by that steady gaze. _Now I’m jumping at shadows. Great._

 “Am I off base Sir?”    _Fuck._ Now it was strenuous just to gesture with his damn hand. _Monroe!_

Renard smiled. “No, she knew the woman and I have judiciously spent the early hours and this morning having a search warrant drawn up. Detectives, we’re ready to move as soon as I’ve debriefed the rest of the team.”

Hank jumped to his feet. “Anything we can do Captain?”

Nick hunched over, trying to conceal his gut churning nausea which had risen with a vengeance.

“Detective?” Nick realised he was being addressed by his Captain.

With an effort he managed to raise his head to meet his Captain’s face. “Ye…” He couldn’t finish. Nick fought against the weakness, the dragging, wrenching agony that was seizing his body in a grip of iron. Somehow he was both hot and cold, arms heavy and numb, legs trembling.

His head was hot, lanced with the burning brands of fire that were rapidly turning into a raging inferno, consuming him.

Terrified, Nick staggered to his feet in a vain and disgusted attempt to cast off his fear. He was instantly assaulted by the putrid smell of his Captain’s aftershave as the man grabbed him.

“Nick?”

Nick wanted to answer but couldn’t. He barely met Captain Renard’s visibly alarmed eyes. The worry that blossomed in Renard’s face when the Captain caught sight of Nick’s expression – and Nick really didn’t want to know how he looked right now – was scarier than some of the Wesen he had met. That worry had no place being there.

He was vaguely aware of Hank joining the Captain, but by then Nick’s world was narrowing and then he was falling, falling down a pit of fire as the inferno in his head flared and extinguished everything around him utterly.

 

**~ * ~**

Whispered words were the first things that Nick noticed. Here, where the blackness seemed never-ending, the murmured voices penetrated and slowly roused him. Ever so slowly, Nick became conscious, gradually parting the ocean that engulfed him.

The Grimm was rewarded by a light that for all intents and purposes was as bright as the sun. He must have made some noise as the voices stopped and shoes squeaked.

“Nick?”

 _I know that voice._ Nick squinted against the solar glare and Captain Renard’s face swam into focus. Except…damn…Was his Captain’s face _flickering_? Nick forced down the swell of panic and did his best to _look_.

Nothing…bar his Captain examining him with deep concern. For a brief moment Nick could have sworn that there had been another image underlying the everyday visage of his boss, while shrouding the Captain’s tall frame had been an aura…tinged white – or was it gold?

Nick was invaded by doubt. _Maybe I’m seeing things now? My Grimm senses could be going haywire._

Something about his silence seemed to trouble the Captain as Renard now watched him with a trace amount of suspicion. “Nick? Detective Burkhardt?”

Nick was struck by the acute desire to pretend he hadn’t noticed anything was abnormal. He had no idea where this need originated from: his cop instinct or his newly fledged Grimm ones or a mixture, but he understood when to obey.

However, an attempt to speak rendered him coughing hoarsely. _Ugh, I sound like drank sand._

Blessedly, a hand holding a cup was pressed to his parched lips and Nick was conscious of Hank levering him up, sliding a surprisingly gentle arm to encircle his shoulders, supporting his weight.

With relief Nick sipped at the cool water and instantly choked. “Fuck!” The exclamation from the generally unflappable Captain Renard was amusing though quickly lost as Nick felt his chest and stomach clench as he continued to cough.

“Nurse!” shouted Hank somehow leaning over Nick to jab the call button, yell and yet remain holding his partner. A feat Nick was grateful for as he curled into his solid friend, in an act to brace himself as his entire frame shook.

Nick was sure later that it must have been mere seconds until two nurses ran in, but at the time it was as if fifty years had passed, rendering him breathless and rapidly beginning to lose himself to unconsciousness.

Hank was pushed away, protests ignored. Then Nick was only aware of hands on him and a through a growing haze the slide of a breathing mask over his mouth and nose.

Then just as swiftly as it had happened it ended. His fit stopped and Nick weakly sucked in dregs of air. Blinking away tears formed by the strain he had been under, Nick fumbled with the mask and pulled it down.

“Please Detective,” insisted one of the nurses, “Toddy”, written on her name-tag, “You shouldn’t remove the mask yet.”

Nick marshalled his strength. He was a cop who had survived training and many tough, dark cases, not to mention a freshly minted Grimm who had weathered an emotionally and physically painful learning curve the last few months; he could – would – endure the effort to speak.

With great care and enunciating each word Nick replied: “I am fine now Miss Toddy. I can breathe.” Pride swelled in Nick! He had managed not to pass out. Emboldened by his success Nick continued.

“What happened? I’ve guessed I’m in hospital.”

“What happened?!” Hank re-appeared in Nick’s vision and Nick would have laughed for the disbelieving expression painted on the handsome dark features, if it hadn’t been for the hasty thought that it might hurt so soon after his coughing fit. “You have been out of it for two hours! You collapsed Nick. Completely passed out. One minute the Captain and I are talking to you and then _poof_! You’re a damn sight lucky that Captain Renard was holding onto you otherwise you would have hit the floor in a nasty heap.”

The man in question now stood once more by Nick, his face resolutely human.

“You were moaning Nick and even in an unconscious state as Detective Griffin and I lowered you to the floor you were curling up – I assume in agony.”

Hank was glaring, though when he spoke again Nick could hear the worry and hurt. “Shit Nick, I’ve seen _milk_ that wasn’t as white as you were! And when I, and then a paramedic, tried to straighten you out, you fucking howled – scared the life out of Wu, most of the department and me.”

Renard continued unabated as if Hank hadn’t interrupted. “Care to share with the class why you are currently hooked to an IV drip due to dehydration and a morphine drip as well? The doctor in charge was reasonably certain you had to be in agony, due to our description of your actions in my office, suggesting that the only way you could remain dead to the world was if your system had overloaded and simply couldn’t take anymore.”

An uncompromising edge sharpened his Captain’s eyes. “I believe you have something to tell us Detective?”

Nick winced. An order, inescapably so.

“I am afraid that whatever Detective Burkhardt has to say, needs to be heard by us first Captain Renard.”

Nick and his two colleagues turned towards the door where a doctor stood, white lab-coat tightly fastened, though Nick immediately detected that the doctor was tired from the slight slump to his shoulders, not surprising due to the dark shadow cloaking his jaw.

His eyes while calm were pinched at the corners, evidence of a long shift, but the Grimm figured one that was almost over as he held an air of contained agitation, indicating he was meant to be elsewhere soon.

Amazing what being pain-free could do for a person. Nick had practically forgotten what it felt like to function ‘normally’, absent from agony. It was temporary, yet Nick could already sense some tension undone from his back.

However, now that the doctor had arrived some of that stress had returned. Anxiety churned in his belly because whatever happened next, confessions and all, might reveal… _No, I’m just overworked and over-stressed._

Yet the mantras of this morning and the past weeks no longer held the same blasé comfort.

The doctor walked up to Nick, holding out his hand. “I’m Dr Francis, Detective Burkhardt.”

Nick forced a smile. “Simply Nick, Dr Francis.”

Nick grasped Dr Francis’ hand…or tried to. His arm was like lead and as earlier, when in Captain Renard’s office, his hands were clumsy, as if all feeling had drained from them. A numbness had settled into his limbs.

Dr Francis noticed and Nick swallowed the ball of alarm that lodged in his throat at the intense expression.

Hank and Renard had also noticed his aborted efforts and moved close.

“Dr Francis,” it was Renard who addressed the doctor. “What is the matter with the Detective?”

“I don’t know yet Captain. That is what we will find out with the Detective’s – Nick’s – help.”

Nick nodded frantically. He was certainly ready to co-operate. “Sure. So what do we do first?”

“Ask your colleagues to politely leave,” was the soothing reply. Nick allowed himself to relax a fraction at the voice, trained to ease skittish patients.

Captain Renard was obviously displeased and Hank seemed ready to froth at the mouth. It was heartening to realise how protective they were of him, but Nick knew he had to assist the doctor and send them away.

Time to be brave. He had survived so far so he would survive being alone with Dr Francis. He wasn’t a Wesen so nothing to fret about right?

“Go. I’ll be fine. I’ll report the minute I know more or something happens.”

“You better Detective,” said Captain Renard sharply. “Will we be able to visit later?” He questioned the doctor.

Dr. Francis thought about it. “Maybe, depends on what my conversation with the Detective uncovers. Rest assured Captain that we will do our very best and we shall keep you appraised.”

“Be sure that you do doctor.” In that second Captain Renard appeared more imposing than Nick had ever seen in all his years of knowing the man. It was an unsettling side to his boss.

Dr Francis actually shuddered and his voice had a definite edge to it when he said, “yes”.

Hank broke the scene, apparently unaware of their Captain terrifying the young doctor.

“Look after yourself buddy.” A light squeeze of his arm and Hank released him as if he thought he would hurt Nick if he did more. It was a blow to think how scared Hank had to be for his partner. Nick hadn’t understood how badly shaken was his friend. Guilt chewed at him.

“Yeah…you too Hank.”

Hank’s smile was weak. “I will, see you later.” He waved as he exited the room but Nick couldn’t summon the strength to shift his numb arms.

Captain Renard didn’t even wave, sparing him the indignity of trying. He simply laid a hand on Nick’s shoulders. “Tell the doctor everything Detective. That is an order. We’ll return.”

“Yes sir.”

Then his Captain was gone and Dr Francis was drawing up a chair.

Nick stared into green eyes, moistening his lips for the firing squad.

 

**~ * ~**

“Now,” Dr Francis flipped a page over on his clipboard, clicking his pen. “I think it best if we first concentrate on what happened earlier in your office this morning, including the events leading up to it. Please could you also pay particular attention to anything out of the ordinary?”

Nick nodded. He had no desire to repeat what he had suffered in the night; however, it appeared the choice had been snatched from his hands. So, he began. Nick recounted how he had woken in agony, unable to think or walk, just crawl and vomit into the toilet.

He explained how the pain had been all-consuming, until it finally passed letting him slip into unconsciousness. Nick described how he left for work, conveniently avoiding the subject of Monroe – he did not want to expose Monroe to scrutiny (and possible danger) unless he had to – and how the pain just resurfaced, steadily increasing in intensity until he could no longer stand it.

“I was also cold, no freezing. It was if I had been dunked into a snow drift. My fingers stiff and I could barely hold a pen let alone type.”

Nick drew in more breath. “By ten I was so numb with cold and pain I had to do something.”

“What precisely?” queried Dr Francis. “You were trapped in work, so what did you intend to do? Is this when you bolted from your desk?”

Nick flushed. He had forgotten that Captain Renard had said that he and Hank had informed the doctor in ER what had happened in the office. Hank must have mentioned his abrupt departure from their desk. He might have to say something about Monroe after all.

And suddenly Nick wanted to tell. He was tired of hiding every particular of his new life, especially now he was in hospital and why should he conceal his friend from the doctor? The temptation was overwhelming and Nick found himself speaking ere he could curb his tongue.

“I was calling my friend. I ran sick from my desk and when I realised I couldn’t cope the entire day without further supplies of painkillers I rang him.”

“Does your friend have a name?”

“Yeah…Monroe.” Nick shifted guilty on the bed, focusing on the white wall facing his bed. “He’s been badgering me to see someone about how unwell I’ve been feeling lately.”

Dr Francis pounced on that titbit. “Lately? So this incidence is not the first time you suffered such crippling headaches?”

 “No”.

Dr Francis made a note on his clipboard. “When did the headaches start? Or are they a new symptom?”

 _“_ Relatively, I’ve been suffering from the lack of appetite, vomiting for longer. The headaches only started a couple of weeks back.”

“Very well Nick, I need you to be truthful, when did you notice a lack of appetite and consequent vomiting?”

“A month ago.”

Dr Francis didn’t seem surprised by Nick’s confession. Nick wondered how many patients he had treated, who had endured their complaints for longer than they should, until they had no choice and wound up in hospital. It was a depressing thought.

However, Dr Francis appeared oblivious to where Nick’s musings had taken him and continued with his questioning. “A month? That is a long time to ignore a continual distaste for food and nausea. Were these symptoms not always so profound?”

“Not really. I mean, my work is hectic so skipping meals with the hours I keep is not unusual. So…not having a desire to eat wasn’t all that threatening. The nausea and vomiting did cause me points of worry, but overall I wasn’t too alarmed. The pain was a bigger shock.”

 

“Hmmmm…So, when did the pain first appear and in what form: as headaches or was the pain more nebulous – non-specific at first?

Nick frowned, struggling to recall when he had felt the first stirrings of pain. The last month was a blur and now that he had stopped to actually ponder his health over the past four or so weeks, Nick realised he couldn’t pinpoint all the facts. The unease he had always harboured about his sickness, flared in the face of this admission.

“I guess it wasn’t defined initially. It was more of a general pain. A twinge or ache in my limbs, a sore back and head. Maybe by the end of the first week – when the aches had started – it transformed into throbbing temples, then glaring headaches and eventually the agonising headaches of the past few days.”

Nick watched as Dr Francis scribbled away. After a brief pause the red-headed doctor peered up at Nick. “Can you think of a possible cause for all these symptoms?”

Nick offered the same spiel he had been feeding himself. “The last few months have been really rough. First my aunt died-”

Dr Francis was suddenly alert. “May I ask what she died of?”

Nick swallowed. The grief was still strong for Aunt Marie as she had been essentially a mother to him. “My Aunt Marie showed up for the first time in 2 years about….three months ago, to pass on some family heirlooms, but at the same time she revealed she was dying.”

“Yes?” asked Dr Francis gently. Nick squeezed his eyes shut.

“She was admitted to this very hospital after an attempt on her life. Aunt Marie eventually succumbed to cancer. She passed away in front of me.”

When he received no reply Nick opened his eyes blinking away the wetness that had risen. He saw that Dr Francis was now flicking through the charts on his clipboard, pen running down the pages searching for what…?

“Doctor?”

Dr Francis jumped slightly and glanced at Nick sheepishly. “My apologies Detective – sorry, Nick.”

“That’s okay. Do you want me to continue?”

“Yes please.”

“Ummmm… Aunt Marie died and work became intense, my relationship with my girlfriend shattered and honestly, my life has been pretty full on since my aunt passed. It wasn’t surprising for me to be feeling so exhausted all the time and I thought my other symptoms were just a factor of my weariness.”

Dr Francis nodded. “I can understand that. You are also a police officer and I have observed that all your profession doesn’t like admitting weakness.”

Nick shrugged uncomfortably. The doctor had struck home. Nick was anxious not to admit any sign that he couldn’t reach the standard, particularly now when he had the standard of his Aunt Marie to live up to. How could he ever be as good a Grimm as his aunt?

Dr Francis obviously took his silence for agreement and after another few minutes of studying the clipboard and making notes, the doctor appeared to reach a conclusion.

“I believe that our next step should be to carry out some tests.”

“Tests doctor? You don’t have an idea of what’s wrong with me? You’re sure it isn’t simply overworking or stress?”

Dr Francis shook his head. His voice was rueful. “No Nick. I don’t think that and it is best we reach the bottom of this affair.”

Nick was disgruntled; he had hoped to out of the hospital by tomorrow. That was unlikely to happen now. “What tests?”

“Blood samples first. Since you haven’t eaten much today we’ll take some now, then try and get a little food into you. It will probably be tomorrow morning, but I’ll book you in for a series of x-rays, urine samples both today and tomorrow and a CT scan and MRI.”

Nick froze. “MRI and CT scan? Aren’t they used to detect…?” Nick faltered, unable to finish his sentence.

Dr Francis was unruffled by his hesitation. Instead, he was soothing when he answered Nick. “A CT scan and MRI are used to detect a variety of diseases Nick. Please don’t worry yourself unnecessarily.”

 _Yeah, so that is why you were so interested in my Aunt?_ “Sure.”

Dr Francis studied him closely. “Very well, I’ll leave now, unless you have any questions?”

“How long will I be in hospital?”

“I cannot say Nick. Let’s see what the results of tests are first.”

“But no longer than a week right?”

“Possibly.” At Nick’s aggrieved expression Dr Francis quickly added, “You may receive visitors of course. Is there anybody you wish to call?”

Nick barely heard the question. His heart was beating too fast and his skin was hot, sweat pin-prickling and now that feeling had returned to his limbs, his palms itched with nervous tension. Nick couldn’t banish the dread that curled in his gut and mind the second Dr Francis had uttered ‘CT scan’ and ‘MRI’. Coupled with the doctor’s earnest query – _insistent_ query – into how Aunt Marie had died, all Nick could consider was a whirlwind of suspicion: of his symptoms – appetite loss, nausea, vomiting, numbness, pain, persistent cold and lethargy – with the reason for his aunt’s death and her own symptoms.

A word coiled in his conscious and nudged him, daring to be given breath, life. Nick shied away from that action, for once in his life too shaken to immediately confront his own deductions.

“Nick?”

Nick managed to tear himself from his ominous meanderings and stared at Dr  
Francis. “No, I can call.”

“You’re certain you don’t wish us to contact one of your colleagues? How about your friend, Monroe?”

“I’ll call him.”

Nick could tell that Dr Francis was worried, so he struggled to smile.

“If you are happy then I’ll leave. I shall see you tomorrow Nick.”

“Great.”

“Good evening.”

“Evening.”

With one last searching look, Dr Francis left and Nick slumped in his bed, refusing to allow himself to think or feel.

 

 

**~ * ~**

At some point while his mind had wandered aimlessly nurses had appeared to take his blood. Somehow he roused himself enough to interact then Nick closed his eyes and fought for oblivion. He required time to gather his facilities, before he talked to anyone.

A tray of food appeared. Nick could smell the horrid stench of toast and hear the soft steps of whoever brought it. He whispered thanks and received a quiet acknowledgement in turn.

Eventually he opened his eyes and gazed with disgust at the food on the tray. Dried toast with a portion of fruit on the side. Someone must have understood that he probably couldn’t stomach anything more than that.

Nick sighed. He knew he should try so he pulled a slice towards himself and nibbled. It was torturous; his belly was twining like sea-serpents. Soon Nick surrendered to the inevitable and pushed his meal to the side.

His thoughts plagued him and he had an army of tests waiting. Unable to lie still Nick levered himself up his bed and groped for his cell-phone. He could see it on the bedside tantalisingly within reach.

“Shit.” Clutching the device and his side Nick breathed through his nose, staving off the pain and nausea that accompanied it. He glared at the morphine drip.

“Shouldn’t you be stopping my pain? Or at least lessening it?”

“It helps if you don’t try and do gymnastics.” Nick glanced up and shrugged at Toddy. “Can’t let it win.”

“It?” Toddy queried as she entered his room and picked up his left arm gently, checking that the IV drip hadn’t been dislocated. She did the same with his right arm for the morphine drip.

“Whatever is causing my illness.” Nick didn’t elaborate. He was still assimilating the fact that Dr. Francis was considering he might be very sick. Thankfully, Toddy didn’t press. Instead she smiled cheerfully.

“Why were you reaching for your cell-phone Detective? Next time please just summon one of the nurses on duty if you are having trouble. A slipped drip isn’t a pleasant experience and can harm you.”

“Sure. Can I make a call?”

Toddy nodded, discreetly ignoring his abrupt behaviour. Probably used to overwrought patients. A sad fact to be honest.

“Yes.” She shifted his plate. “Not hungry?”

Nick was quiet. “I’ll try.”

“Just eat as much as possible. A little is better than nothing.” The care in her demeanour was too much when the food only instigated a retching complex within Nick so he changed the subject. “Is it too late for visitors?”

Toddy smiled. “No, not as long as they arrive soon. Visitors’ hours are open now for the next two hours.”

“Cool.”

Nick slid his finger over his phone, bringing up contacts. Noticing that Toddy was leaving he called out, “Sorry.”

Toddy didn’t ask for what, but grinned. “Thanks.” The appreciation in her voice made Nick feel a fraction better.

The minute she had disappeared Nick made the call.

“Hey Nick!”

“Whoa, that was fast.”

“Yeah, well, understandably so I think.”

Nick frowned, and then said tentatively, “I’m sorry I wasn’t at the station. I’m in hospital. The same one Aunt Marie was in.” The mention of Aunt Marie brought the old pang of grief to the fore, now accompanied by the thrill of dread implanted by Dr Francis.

“Sorry?” squeaked Monroe’s incredulous cry over the phone, jarring Nick. “Sorry for being in hospital? What? I think you must have not only been dropped on the head as a kid but also down a freaking staircase! Grimm’s and their stupid ‘sorrys’.”

Nick couldn’t help but laugh at Monroe’s ranting. It was heart-warming in its beautiful slice of normality. Unfortunately his laugh transformed into gasps. Oh, right, laughing was currently out of bounds.

“Nick? _Nick._ Are you alright? What’s happening?”

Wheezing, Nick squeezed his eyes shut and recalled all his lessons in controlling breathing. Hey, as police they could be under very stressful situations and had to keep calm. A part of that involved maintaining your breathing; once you started panicking you began a downward spiral to uselessness.

His lungs returned to normal quicker this time. Relieved, Nick answered his friend’s alarmed calls. “I’m…I’m fine. Well, okay anyway. Uh, Monroe…”

“Yes?”

“Where are you? They said that visiting is allowed and there’s only a two hour slot, so um…if you’re not busy…Do you want to come?”

For a moment there was no answer and Nick flushed cold, his skin prickling with sweat that seemed to be tiny daggers. _Shit Monroe. You’re my only friend._ It was sad and maybe a tad pathetic, but Nick had never had such an open and honest relationship with anyone before, especially not now with all this Grimm business. He was strong yes; however, a friend right now wouldn’t go amiss.

“Want to come? How could you doubt? Don’t I always come?”

“Yeeeesss…”

“And don’t even imply it’s because of the cases or you being pushy. No wait, I retract my statement. You are pushy. However, you are my pushy Grimm and so yup…Looks like I’m coming.”

Nick grinned. “Cool. So, how long will it take for you to get to the hospital?”

“Ah…about that…”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t need to be a cop to know his Blutbad was guilty of something. “Listening.”

“I’m kind of already there.”

“Huh?” Now Nick was just confused. What did Monroe mean by ‘already there’?

“I…ah…am outside.”

“The hospital..?”

“Uh…yes.”

Nick almost forgot himself and tried lifting his body up to try and squint out his window. “Where?”

“Um, outside Nick, like I just said.” Monroe sounded concerned. “You remember right?”

“Of course I do Monroe! I simply meant where _exactly_.”

“Wouldn’t you rather I explained that in person?”

Nick froze and turned slowly towards the door to his room. Monroe, dishevelled and looking distinctly hungry at the edges, was standing framed in the entrance, headset on.

Even his beard seemed to have a harassed air as he raised an eyebrow and sighed in typical Monroe fashion. “So, can I come in Nick?”

“Yes, by the hair on my chinny chin chin!”

It was worth the ache to surpass his hilarity at the priceless expression on Monroe’s face. His friend narrowed his eyes and a glint of red flickered in the brown depths as he entered. “You don’t appear to be a little pig, but maybe I’m wrong.”

Monroe stopped beside the bed.

“What are friends for?”

In those seconds it felt as if life balanced on an edge, while Nick waited for Monroe’s response. He was tense, he had called them friends before, however, Monroe hadn’t stated as such in return. So Nick waited apprehensively for Monroe’s answer.

Monroe carefully sat, slipping off his jacket and folding it over the chair. He studied Nick and then a genuine grin appeared. “That’s what friends are for.”

Nick felt that fist of stress uncurl and vanish. “Friends huh? With a Grimm?”

Monroe rolled his eyes. “ _Yes_. And I am _never_ going to be invited to another family meal in my life.”

“Um…”

“So, you had better be prepared to have me over for Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving – and any other special holiday, event or just when I please,” Monroe barged on slamming aside Nick’s fledging guilt.

Nick smirked. “Agreed.”

Monroe suddenly seemed to consider something. “Actually, my house is better for food.”

Nick nodded. Monroe’s place was more homely, unlike his large empty echoing building. “No problem.” _I’m not complaining. Looks like I have the perfect end of the bargain!_

Then something struck Nick. “Though when you are over for Christmas, you’re not putting up Christmas decorations as early as November.”

Monroe raised an eyebrow. “Right. You believe that Nick.” He held up a hand at Nick’s protest. “Remember, I’ve got the good coffee – the one that tastes like coffee.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.”

Monroe now leant forward, gazing at Nick with an inscrutable shadow over his features.

“How is the little piggy?”

Nick shrugged and regretted it. The dull throbbing flared up, cresting into a sharp smack of pain that hit him hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“Nick!” He heard Monroe curse and then a hand, strong yet strangely tender gripped his right shoulder. Soothing warmth sank into his flesh and Nick managed to relax.

He glanced up. He met Monroe’s eyes, red with worry. Nick was not frightened of that blood-colour, instead only feeling bolstered.

Time to be frank. Time to be honest. “I’m not good Monroe. Seems you were right.”

“Of course I’m right, aren’t I always?” The angry red in Monroe’s eyes belied how worried he was for his friend.

“Just so I know where to start, do you know how I wound up in hospital? What did you do when you reached the station?”

Monroe snorted. “Do? I arrived after you collapsed, or at least I assume you did since that is what I over-heard some cops talking about among themselves.” Nick nodded in assent. “I drew up to the station just as a screeching ambulance pulled up and man, are those things a menace. Almost deafened this Blutbad!

“Anyway, I realised something was going down so I lurked at the edges of the scene only to see you being carried out on a stretcher comatose. Damn, I think I pulled a few eye muscles, not to mention ear muscles, trying to learn what had happened to you.”

Nick smiled at the image of Monroe in his sweater straining to catch news of him.  “Hence you hearing about me collapsing.”

“Yup.”

Monroe settled in the guest chair, allowing his hand to linger on Nick’s arm. Nick didn’t complain.

“I obviously couldn’t ask anyone what had happened to you, not as a former suspect anyway, so I tailed the ambulance and well…”

“Been hanging outside ever since?” The thought that Monroe had been waiting all this time for him outside brought a strange warm choking sensation to Nick. He blinked back the sudden wetness in his eyes, blaming his peculiar emotion on the anxieties of the day.

“Yeah…pretty much. I did spend some time in the waiting room, but there were too many people who might start asking questions, so I had to move outside. Probably better really. Blutbaden and hospitals with their smell of closely packed humans – doctors, patients and visitors – isn’t a good mixture. And no mentioning of blood, far too much of it.”

Nick understood that. “Must be hell.”

Monroe frowned and was unusually sharp. “Don’t go believing I’ll abandon a friend. I’m sticking around you, you reprehensible Grimm!”

A swell of affection rose, confusing Nick, for it seemed to be more profound than the usual affection for a friend. Not wishing to investigate too deeply at the moment, Nick just savoured the emotion and hurried on the conversation.

“Seems then as if you know everything up until you lost sight of me in the hospital. Okay, what you missed….”

Nick chatted for a while, filling Monroe in on how he felt this morning and telling the truth of his night’s adventures. The anger that provoked was clear in the shifted form of Monroe’s face and in the deep crimson colour in his eyes. As Nick described how he slowly deteriorated during that morning and heck how he had been feeling for an entire month the crimson became ever darker until two burgundy  orbs smouldered at him out of a face angular and wolf-like.

It tested Nick’s courage and eked guilt into a living breathing creature. Finally he exhausted his breath and fell silent. Nick hadn’t elaborated on all the questions Dr Francis had asked and Monroe appeared to understand that too much had occurred in too short a time for Nick to be able to share all. The events of the day were too fresh in many ways, the cares and concerns still pressing heavy on Nick’s mind and body.

He desperately needed time to recover and prepare for tomorrow. Then he would reveal the whole extent of his conversation with Dr Francis and how he had seen Captain Renard’s face change.

Somehow Monroe got all that, Nick could see that in the way his face returned to his normal human visage, the gentle brown eyes, the amused smile tugging at his lips, no make that exasperated slash amused smile.

Monroe sighed as if in defeat in the face of one of Nick’s pleas for help in a case. Shoulders no longer hunched around his ears, the Blutbad ran his free hand through his hair. “You’re an idiot, but apparently I’m crazy enough to not care. Huh.”

“Figured that when you agreed to watch my Aunt.”

“No, that was temporary insanity.” Then Monroe took on a faraway look, as if something had jolted his memory. Suddenly, he jerked forward, hovering over Nick and sniffed. An intense expression sketched his features and he turned his head to peer at Nick.

“Don’t move, but place your hand on my back – can you do that?”

Nick was astonished and wary. “What? Why?”

“Don’t play dumb Nick. You must know what is the weakness of my species.”

Nick felt unease wind through him. “Yeah, so? I trust you. You aren’t my enemy.”

Monroe rolled his eyes. “No, but it’s called humouring your Blutbad okay? I want to smell you more deeply and with your palm braced on my back? Insurance so you can drag me out of it in case the scents are a little potent.”

“Knock you out you mean?”

“Yeah…and insurance.”

“Won’t require the latter, looks like stupidity likes company Monroe. I said I trust you and I do, so stop being an idiot.”

Monroe snorted and muttering about lunatic Grimms, turned away and stilled. Then he inhaled, drawing in one long breath. In a matter of seconds Monroe tensed, and Nick, instead of exerting pressure on the small of Monroe’s back, anxiously ran a hand over his spine and shoulders. “Hey, you okay Monroe?”

A gasp and a frantic nod were his answer and then Monroe slumped in his chair. His eyes were watering when he looked at Nick. “It’s frustrating! I swear your scent reminds me of something. However, the hospital taints _everything_. It’s like a patina covers anyone who enters this building. Disinfectant, the various medicines, the washes for patients and the machines…and that’s just the start! Yet, I could have sworn…”

Monroe appeared so wretched that Nick had to speak. “Don’t kill yourself Monroe. I’m sure you’ll remember. Can’t blame you anyway, hospitals don’t smell wonderful for humans so I can’t imagine how you must be suffering.”

“Suffering? You’re the one in a hospital bed and I’m suffering? Nick, how you can be so generous and a Grimm astound me.”

Nick was smug. Mission accomplished. “I’m that brilliant.”

“Right, ego time I see. Anything else your awesomeness wishes to reveal?”

Nick recalled his case. “Yeah…you know this morning?” By Monroe’ blush which matched his own, the Blutbad did remember. Coughing to break the awkward pause, Nick practically spat out his next words.

“I forgot to tell you about my latest case. A good thing actually, since Captain Renard-” Nick made a mental note to tell Monroe about his strange encounter when he first awoke and saw Renard, maybe tomorrow. “-had more information.”

Nick related what he knew and when finished Nick watched Monroe. Thoughtfully, the Blutbad tapped his fingers on Nick’s bed. After a couple of minutes he said, “It sounds like an enchantress. That would explain how she could alter her form, appearing like a completely different woman to each man – and witnesses.”

“Enchantress?”

“Yes, a woman, a witch really, who can spin spells and make things appear as they are not. She can lure humans to their death or to do her bidding. Her magic can be based on many varied arts, singing is one of them.”

“Damn, can an enchantress be stopped?”

“From any other Grimm…However, you’re not,” Monroe sighed but with a smile so Nick knew he appreciated that he wasn’t like his fellow Grimms, both present and previous. Heck if he had been neither of them would here, either as friends or in Nick’s case probably already dead from his first week as an ignorant Grimm.

Monroe continued. “I know you’re not asking about how to kill, and I hate to break it to you, but… the only sure way to stop an enchantress is to kill one. They rarely if ever listen to reason and this one? She’s already killed quite a number of men.”

Nick sighed. He knew Monroe was right, but that did not make the decision any easier or less of a burden to bear. Nick felt Monroe curl his hand around his wrist and Nick smiled at the gesture of support it offered.

Monroe may not understand Nick’s finer sensibilities on talk first instead of kill first, and indeed decry it loudly on certain occasions, but the Blutbad would admit before anyone else that was what made Nick different and what had kept Monroe from chasing the new Grimm away in those tenuous early days.

“Okay Monroe, how do you stop – kill – a murderous Enchantress?”

“Stop? Easier said than done. They’re pretty feisty and cunning with their magic. The surest way would be to disable her somehow, so she can’t access her powers.”

Nick scowled. “Seems like an impossible task.”

“Not really,” Monroe had a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. “All we require is enough time to well, kill her,” at this Monroe shot Nick an apologetic glance, “and hey presto she’s dust!”

“A distraction?”

“Possibly, if dangerous.”

Monroe leaned back but did not release his grip on Nick’s wrist. Nick managed to hide how reassured this made him, though with his friend’s nose that was probably a failed feat.

“I know some herbs that could be brewed into a concoction that would distract her once spilled.”

“Why? What would the potion be?”

Monroe shrugged. “Nothing really. It is meant to stimulate passion, desire, and if I’m right, this enchantress has supped on so many men in such a short space of time, that she’s probably far enough gone to walk straight into such a trap. It would be enough to give your fellow cops a chance – and I don’t think they’ll be in the mood to chat.”

“How long will it take? And it won’t endanger you right?”

Monroe snorted. “Endanger me? Knowing you endangers me Grimm! As for the concoction…probably a few hours, why?”

Nick was earnest. “The Captain already has the warrant to search her house.”

“Not good, but unless the media are keeping really quiet they may have not carried through after your dramatic scene.”

Nick wondered if this were true. It was possible of course. The disarray his collapse would have caused and Captain Renard and Hank’s presence at the hospital would have delayed any potential course of action. Cops still had to be debriefed and a team assembled. Time might be on their side.

“Hand me my cell.”

Monroe did so. Nick awkwardly tapped at the screen until Monroe eased the phone out of his hand and brought up Hank’s number. He delicately didn’t say anything, guessing that this situation was too humiliating to be laughed at yet.

Nick was grateful and shifted his wrist under Monroe’s hot fingers, hoping to convey his message. By the grin he received it was a success. Grinning back Nick called Hank.

By the end of the call Nick had discovered that the raid hadn’t been carried out yet, but would at dawn for the best bet at surprise. He also had Hank’s personal decree for Nick to stop butting into work and get some damn rest.

Monroe shared his amusement though he unfortunately agreed with Hank. Then all too soon he was rising to leave.

“I’ll brew that potion and be waiting for your comrades at the scene.”

Nick was sick with worry and opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Monroe.

“Yeah, yeah, be careful. Really Nick, I think I know how not to get killed.”

Nick didn’t believe him for a minute. “Alright Monroe, but stay out of sight and tell me as soon as you know!”

“Got it.”

Monroe pulled on his jacket and Nick panicked. All his gloomy thoughts were rushing back and Monroe was fast disappearing. “Hey.” Nick looked up and saw that Monroe was glaring at him, all serious. “I’ll be back tomorrow okay? Bright and early.”

Nick swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I have tests all morning.”

Monroe snorted. “Then I’ll become one with the décor so that no-one notices your friendly neighbourhood Blutbad.”

Nick managed to gasp out a little laugh. ”You do that.”

Monroe smirked. “Alright then, time for Grimms to be asleep. Sweet dreams.”

Nick nodded. “Take care.” As Monroe touched his wrist again, Nick used all his remaining energy to exert himself to turning his hand over and slipping his fingers over Monroe’s skin. Coughing suddenly, Monroe whispered, “You’ll be fine Nick. Call whatever hour it might be, if you need to.”

“Thanks.”

Nick watched as his friend pulled away and walked slowly out his room. Closing his eyes Nick focused on maintaining the image of his friend and his conversation with Monroe in his mind as sleep tugged at him.

 

**~ * ~**

The next morning came all too soon for Nick.

He woke slowly and reluctantly, eyes flickering open, staring blearily around his room. For a moment he was confused by his surroundings and the different feel of the sheets. Nick shifted slightly in bed, forcing his eyes to open even if they watered a bit. Espying the clean sterile décor of the room and the two drips by his bed, the events of yesterday came crashing back.

“Damn.”

Sighing, Nick carefully raised a hand to wipe his eyes, not wishing to elicit another round of pain. _That_ he remembered with no problem.

Gradually he became aware of the sounds of a hospital coming to life and he turned his head, ever wary of potential discomfort, to see if he could peer out into the corridor. He managed to catch glimpses of cleaners rushing past and the first signs of breakfast for patients being prepared.

Ignoring the swell of nausea this brought Nick twisted around, attempting to lie on his side, back towards the door. It was awkward, but apparently not as impossible as he had dreaded.

In this position Nick was able to see his cell and his breath stuck in his throat. It was flashing. He had a received a message.

Heart pounding Nick reached for it, mindful how that had ended yesterday. Gripping it he tapped the screen to access the message. There were three from Monroe.

_6:00am: I’m in position Nick. Hiding in her backyard – man, it’s straight out of some enchanted garden magazine or something._

_6:30am: Your cop buddies are here. Released the potion. Working!_

_6:45am: Arrested. Everyone is ok. Including me, so don’t worry. Text me when you get this._

Anxious to do so, Nick began typing. At least today his hands and fingers were complying. Nick could taste his relief at being able to use his hands as always.

**_7:30am: Good to hear you’re fine. Where are you now?_ **

_7:33am: Good morning to you too. I’m home, I have to do Pilates then I can come to the hospital if you want.How are you?_

**_7:45am: I’m fine I guess. Had the first proper night’s sleep for almost a month. Can use my cell._ **

_7:48am: That’s brilliant. So, can I visit?_

“Detective Burkhardt what are you doing?”

Startled, Nick looked up to see a nurse standing, surprised just inside the entrance to his hospital room.

“Um, texting my friend? He wants to know if he can come.”

The nurse raised an eyebrow but approached, Nick all the while trying to discern if she were part of the Wesen world or human. No, human, so there was no need to be too suspicious.

Stopping by his bed, the nurse picked his chart up. “My name is Ruth. As for your friend I’m afraid he can’t visit yet. You have a series of tests scheduled sooner than we realised this morning, even before you eat.” She looked apologetic at that, but Nick just shrugged.

“That’s okay, I can’t eat anything anyway.”

Ruth appeared concerned at his statement but Nick didn’t allow it to bother him. He was more eager to discover when he was due to taken for his first batch of tests, (blood), and consequently when Monroe could visit.

“So can Monroe come this afternoon?”

Ruth smiled. “You should be finished by lunch, though I would advise a short while to recover. The tests can be quite draining.”

Nick didn’t like the ominous warning; however, he gathered his courage. He wasn’t going to let hospital procedure to scare him silly.

“Thanks Ruth. I’ll just finish this then.”

She laughed. “I need to check you first Detective.”

Nick didn’t correct her or ask her to use ‘Nick’, he simply wanted this over with. After an impatient wait it was over and Nick returned to texting Monroe, who was probably wondering what had happened.

**_8:20am: Sorry about that. Visit from a nurse. I’ve got tests earlier than I thought. Can you come for after lunch, about 1?_ **

_8:25am: I’m sorry Nick, I can’t. Have an appointment with imp client re: clocks. Try & reschedule._

**_8:27am: No, don’t, I’ll survive. Later?_ **

_8:30am: Definitely. Sorry._

**_8:32am: Yeah. Bye._ **

**_8:34am: Good luck._ **

_8:36am: Thanks. You too._

Nick turned off his cell, trying not to dwell on how Monroe’s admission of not being able to visit until much later unbalanced him. “Stupid tests.”

“I’m sure you don’t mean that.”

“Shit! People need to stop popping up out of nowhere around me.”

“My apologies Nick.”

Nick glared at Dr Francis, who to his disgust looked far more together than Nick most likely appeared and certainly felt.

The doctor just grinned and gestured to Nick’s cell-phone. “Trouble?”

Nick had no particular desire to share, though who else had he to talk to in this place? “Monroe can’t visit until later as right now I have to go and be jabbed with needles. He can’t come at lunch either as he has work.”

“Is that so?”

“Not that it bothers me,” Nick tried to sound casual.

“Of course not, Nick.” Dr Francis handed Nick a glass of water. “Drink, otherwise you’ll regret it as your morning is unfortunately rather packed.”

Nick grunted but did as he was bid. “Am I going now?”

“Yes, we’ll put a hospital gown on you for ease and then we’ll begin.” Dr Francis flipped through his notes, which he seemed to have been glued to his hands. “I think we’ll actually take a urine sample first then wheel you to Haematology for blood samples.”

“When do I have my x-ray and CT and MRI scans?”

“X-ray is booked for nine thirty and CT and MRI for afterwards.”

Nick closed his eyes, the fear of why those scans had been decided upon haunting him. A hand squeezed his shoulder.

“Don’t fret Nick, we’ll figure it out.”

Opening his eyes Nick armoured himself for the day, he was a Grimm after all, he would endure.

“Pass me my gown.”

 

 

**~ * ~**

The tests were horrible.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut as his body heaved. He was currently hunched over in bed, vomiting what felt like his all his internal organs – or maybe just his intestines and stomach, Nick was in too much pain to think straight.

It had only taken him being detached from the life-saving flow of morphine a couple of hours before that black fist of agony, which had been lurking around Nick’s head the last fortnight, to return with a vengeance.

Now the pain clutched his entire body, twisting his insides until Nick couldn’t help but convulse and retch. Perhaps by vomiting he could remove this blistering agony.

“That’s it Detective Burkhardt, just hold my hand.”

The gentle kind voice of Ruth, his nurse from this morning, filtered somehow through his torment. Nick wanted to respond, wished to stop, but all he could do was ride this out. However, he appreciated her presence; otherwise Nick thought he might believe he was alone in a personal hell. He had enough of that, especially after being sick at home and now this horrid hospital imprisonment.

“Detective Burkhardt? Can you move?”

Nick gasped and clenched the sick bowl with his one hand that wasn’t curled, nails digging into his palm. He had no breath to answer and his throat was clenching, ready to spasm around another bout of putrid vomit, though there was probably nothing left, not even bile.

Fury flowed through Nick. _I won’t – can’t – let this beat me._ Suddenly determined, Nick dredged up all his strength and nodded.

“Okay, we need you straighten just a little, enough to insert a needle into your arm. You must hold still so we don’t hurt you.”

Nick didn’t waste time responding, instead he used muscles which were as weak as paper and uncurled as much as possible, then locked himself in position. Through a haze he could discern Ruth now by his left side and another nurse, male, on his right who swiftly yet professionally gripped his arm and worked a new needle into a vein and set up a new cannula.

Ruth was talking to him, but Nick had no desire to hear her explanation of what they were doing. All he cared was that his pain stopped so he focused on listening to her soothing tone.

In the far off distance he heard Hank. “Nick?”

Unable to answer Nick tried to see without moving his head. His vision remained blurry and all he achieved was Ruth scolding them both.

“Detective Griffin, if you must stay I request you do so just outside the room and please don’t distract our patient. Detective Burkhardt, just hold on for another minute…”

Nick closed his eyes and allowed the nurses to manhandle him. All he could do now was survive. All his energy, his will and the strength of his family line was poured into this single action: survival of the moment.

Eventually, Nick could sense the transformation as the agony slowly bled away and his body relaxed.

 _Shit._ All his muscles, particularly his stomach throbbed. His belly ached and every time Nick breathed, shallowly, hurt.

Opening his eyes Nick couldn’t even whimper at the lights. He was too weak and his mouth, apart from tasting like a refuse site, was dry as the Sahara.

“Put out the lights! Can’t you see it’s hurting him?”

_Hank._

He heard his partner move and then he was aware of Hank standing close to him. “It’s alright Nick,” whispered his friend. “I’ve hit the lights.”

Daring to open his eyes almost took more than he had left, but Nick blinked them open. His vision was still slightly off, however, he managed to make out his partner hovering with a very worried expression by his bed.

“H…?”

Nick coughed and subsided as Ruth appeared with water. With infinite patience she ensured he only drank a sip at a time, with long gaps in-between. Finally she returned the glass to his bedside table and placed a hand on his forehead.

“How do you feel now Detective?

Exhausted, Nick simply gazed at her. She seemed to understand and motioned the other nurse to leave. As Ruth passed Hank she spoke. “Five minutes Detective. He must rest and recover.”

Hank was obviously displeased but nodded curtly. Then they were alone.

“Nick?”

Nick knew that smiling was out of the question. He was afraid. All his courage and whispered convictions that he was okay, that he would be fine were broken, mere dust blowing in the breeze.

His latest fit, the tests he had endured and the guarded expressions in the eyes of his nurses and doctors caused doubt to rise and many different scenarios, potential explanations to his symptoms presented themselves.

Being a cop didn’t help, rather all it did for Nick, who had always been a very good at his job, was add up all the questions he had been asked plus the other extenuating evidence to a conclusion that turned his body to ice and held his mind hostage.

“Hey,” rasped Nick. He winced. He sounded dreadful.

Hank though smiled, if painfully. “Hey buddy. What happened there? Last I saw you, you were doing a bit better.”

“They took me for tests. Guess being away from my drips didn’t agree with me.” His attempt at joking fell flat as the effort to speak plainly drained him. Nick watched as his partner tried to hide the fear of his condition, but Hank had never been good at that. Hank was friendly, the life of the party and a good support. Nick could imagine how Hank must feel seeing his friend lying wasted in bed, consumed by the pain eating away at his insides.

Hank probably felt powerless and was floundering for words. What do you say when your friend is ill from a disease that…Nick shook off his gloomy meanderings and knowing he couldn’t last much longer tried again to speak.

“On lunch?”

“Yeah, the Captain said I could come. Well, he said I should shift my useless ass down to the hospital to check on you since I clearly was unable to even enter a form correctly.”

The image of the Captain saying something like that almost brought a smile to Nick’s face, but the memory of Renard’s peculiar change dampened the effect.

“Obviously realised you’re hopeless without me.” Hank snorted and Nick ignored him. “And now that you are here?”

Hank stared quietly at him and Nick laid his head on the pillow unable to meet his friend’s assessing gaze. He barely could cope with his own poisonous theories; Nick did not have the energy to deal with Hank’s.

“Worried Nick. Really, how long have you been like this?”

“A month.”

“Shit Nick, you couldn’t say something?”

Nick flinched at the mixed hurt, anger and disbelief in Hank’s accusation.

“Thought it was nothing. Mon-”

“Monroe?” interrupted Hank. “The clockmaker? What does he have to do with this?”

Nick sighed. He would have to tell some of the truth now, yet he was too exhausted into go into detail. “It’s complicated…He’s the friend we were discussing.”

Hank to his credit decided to save his freaking out to later. “Man Nick, you sure know how to pick them. Though only you could become friends with someone you accused of kidnapping.”

“Yeah.”

They fell silent and Nick struggled not to slip into unconsciousness.

“Nick?”

Hank’s murmur caught Nick by surprise and with heavy lids he turned gently to face his partner.

Seeing he was still awake, Hank touched his shoulder briefly. “Is there anything I can fetch you? Something from home? Magazines?”

Nick blinked, yet even as he formed a suggestion a flash of his living room table came into his mind’s eye. In particular the book he had left lying open detailing a rather gruesome chase of a Jägerbär by one of his ancestors.

“Ah…no. I’m okay. Monroe’s on the case.” _He will be,_ thought Nick privately.

“Right.” Even though Hank’s voice didn’t betray the rejection he must have felt at his words he was anxious to soothe his friend.

“I could kill for fresh fruit though.”

Hank raised an eyebrow. “Really? Man…those meds must be good!”

Nick tried to smile, too weak to laugh. Hank’s laughter turned alarmed at his partner’s lack of response.

“So, fruit? Any preferences?” The gentle tone was scarier than Hank’s expression of worry.

“Pear…anything that’s juicy but not acidic.”

“Okay.”

“It upsets my stomach otherwise,” elaborated Nick.

Hank grinned. “Got it.”

Satisfied Nick fell silent and without realising it he must have dozed, because the next thing he knew was Hank very softly calling him.

Nick fought to open eyelids heavy with exhaustion. In a blur he saw Hank leaning over him, barely an inch away.

“Yes?” his voice was croaky.

“I have to go.”

Distress momentarily flared, Nick really didn’t want to be alone, even while he slept. He urgently needed a reprieve from his internal debating and being alone right now was more than his overwrought mind could stand. Sleep now temporally shattered Nick attempted to pull himself up the bed.

“Whoa Nick!” Hank stopped his twisting and helped him to prop himself up.

However, when Nick opened his mouth to speak Hank cut off any protest by quickly saying, “Do you want me to call Monroe?”

Gratitude welled in Nick. For Hank to make the effort to offer to call someone who until recently was an unnamed ‘informant’ and then prior suspect was immense.

“Yes…” Perhaps Monroe would come if he knew how badly Nick was suffering. Maybe.

“Okay, got his number?”

“On my cell-phone…”

“Right.” Hank walked around Nick’s bed and retrieved his phone.  Within seconds he was holding it to his ear.

Nick rubbed his eyes to try and rid himself of his blurred vision. It helped a little, but by the time he had done so he had missed part of Hank’s conversation with Monroe.

“So you can come?” Hank was saying.

Monroe’s answer must have been affirmative as Hank nodded and replied, “I’ll stay until you are here. Okay…bye.”

Hank caught Nick staring at him then and grinned. Nick blinked.

“Monroe’s on his way.”

Hank returned his cell to his bedside table and reclaimed his seat. He leaned closer as if he guessed Nick was having trouble seeing.

Nick chided himself. Of course he can. _Hank’s a damn good detective._

Hank continued. “I have to tell you man, he must be devoted to you because he dropped whatever commission he was working on and ‘wham’ was excusing himself.” Hank looked at Nick a knowing gleam in his warm brown eyes. “I heard him muttering that he had to leave and that a ‘really good friend was very ill and needed him’. Can’t say what his customer said but it made Monroe tetchy.”

Nick flushed. The amused humour in his partner’s face was unsettling. It caused emotions to rise in him that seemed to surface frequently now whenever Monroe and he were together or when Nick thought of his friend.

Nick wasn’t an idiot, he recognised that his feelings for Monroe were changing and were stronger, more powerful than they had once been. Yet Nick was nervous. Monroe’s friendship was more precious than any metal or jewel on Earth. The Blutbad was the single person in the world who he could confide in and actually wanted part of this Grimm business.

No other Wesen had offered such assistance and Nick was aware of how unique Monroe was. Only Hap had come close to such acceptance of Nick’s identity.

What a partnership they made: a Grimm and a Blutbad. An unusual, if not unheard of, relationship.

Yet they had formed a team and in the process of hunting down the bad ones they had forged close bonds until Nick realised he couldn’t bear to lose Monroe and if Monroe’s manner of welcoming Nick into his home, making them dinner, patching up their wounds and even translating the Grimm journals, were a sign, then the Blutbad was of the same opinion.

The dark-haired detective had always felt an outsider – and he knew Monroe had as well – however, with Monroe that sensation wasn’t prevalent. Nick felt connected as if something had been switched on or the universe had righted itself.

So, yes, Hank’s teasing expression and knowing inflection probed at bubbling emotions that Nick was beginning to comprehend went beyond the love friends felt for each other into the one that lovers shared.

It was a terrifying revelation in one respect as Nick recalled how his relationship with Juliette had soured. He had no desire for his relationship with Monroe to follow. Admittedly neither held secrets from the other, which had been one of the main causes for the death of his former relationship.

Nick knew if he risked revealing his new feelings it might gain him the world, yet it also might cause him to lose the world. The risk was high and while he was still muddling through his thoughts Nick wanted to wait so he could at least articulate his stance better to Monroe.

 Hank, unaware of Nick’s oscillating emotions, pursued his lead.

“Not many who’ll do that Nick.” Hank cocked his head. “Soooo…how long has Monroe had the key to your house?”

Nick was confused. _What?_

“You mentioned earlier that Monroe would grab things for you from your house. Unless you handed the key to him during a prior visit the guy must have his own set.”

“Ummm….” Nick blamed his befuddled faculties for being unable to muster up a reasonable excuse. Hank’s smirk had Nick wishing fervently that he had the strength to hit his partner with his pillow.

“Yeah…alright Hank…Monroe has his own set. Happy oh Sherlock Holmes?”

Hank laughed. “Yes.” Then Hank turned sober. “Want me to get you anything?”

It took Nick a moment to understand that Hank was clumsily offering to help him look nice for Monroe. _Brilliant. Now I have no dignity left._ However, as Nick considered, he was horrified to realise he did not want Monroe to find him in his current state, which was ridiculous since they had both seen each other in worse conditions.

 _Though my appearance is the only thing I have any control left over._ It was a depressing fact, but Nick shrugged it off and went with it.

“Yeah fine. I could kill for a clean face and a comb.”

“On my way detective.”

Hank jumped up and for the next few minutes Nick forgot where he was as he became lost in the simple normal everyday tasks of freshening up, aided by Hank. He was unable to shave since Monroe hadn’t an opportunity to bring his shaver, but that was okay. It was enjoyable and Nick revelled sedately in the presence of his partner.

When they had finished Hank sat down again and Nick was happy to see his vision was much better. However, his weariness returned so while Hank chatted about the department and Wu despairing over detectives incapable of finding their own stupid files, Nick drifted, fighting full slumber.

Therefore Monroe’s arrival went unnoticed at first until Nick caught his friend’s name. Quickly Nick rolled slightly to his right and opened his eyes. Once more his vision was misty, but he could espy Monroe’s familiar form and detect the pleasing cadence of his voice.

“Afternoon Detective Griffin.”

“Call me Hank we’re both Nick’s friends.”

“Right. How is he?” Monroe was definitely worried.

“He’s been better. The tests this morning drained him big time. He was a mess when I arrived, vomiting and having a seizure I think.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I have to leave, but Nick well…he doesn’t want to be alone.”

“Understandable. So how did you know to call me?”

“Nick asked me to. Well, he mentioned you earlier and when he became distressed I suggested I call you. He was desperate for you to come.” Oh damn, Hank’ attitude was pointedly threatening with a side salad of accusing.

“I wanted to come Hank,” great now Monroe was defensive. “I have a job and Nick wasn’t in such a bad way when we last text.”

“Text?”

“This morning.”

“Huh. Fine. Sorry for the accusation.” Hank sounded reluctantly apologetic.

“No problem, we’re coming from the same angle: Nick’s welfare.” _Well, at least Hank’s not trying to shoot Monroe and Monroe isn’t killing Hank with sarcasm._

At this point Monroe realised he was awake for he looked at Nick.

“Hey Nick.”

“Hey Monroe.”

Monroe shook his head. “You have to do everything your way huh? Can’t you try the easy path for once?”

Nick grinned, whispering. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Monroe snorted. “None I suspect if it doesn’t involve turning my hair grey.”

Seating himself in Hank’s vacated seat Monroe put a plastic bag between his feet. At Nick’s frown he said, “I stopped to get you a brew of soothing camomile tea. Yes, I know you’ve been drinking that stuff.”

“Well,” interrupted Hank, “I can see when I’m not wanted.”

Nick coughed. “What? No.”

Hank laughed, clearly amused. “Chill buddy, you’ve forgotten me already chatting away with Monroe.”

 Hank neared Nick. “I’ll be back Nick.” Glancing at Monroe, Hank added. “Take care of him.” If there was a menacing edge to Hank’s words Monroe politely ignored it.

“Got you.”

Hank waved and disappeared out the door.

Sighing Monroe looked at Nick.

Nick swallowed. The worry etched into Monroe’s face was painful and the concern in the normally brown eyes showed in the flickers of red. Once Monroe’s face shifted, wolfish features coming to the fore.

Nick wanted to say something, anything to alleviate his friend’s suffering. As he attempted to find words of comfort Monroe reached out and grasped his hand.

The weight of Monroe’s large hand was real, anchoring Nick to the world around him which was rapidly vanishing in a haze, while the heat sank into his flesh touching Nick from the inside. The gentle strength in the long skilled fingers wrapped around his own hand was reassuring. It was amazing how one gesture could grant this profound feeling of safety.

Nick met Monroe’s smouldering crimson stare. “Sleep Nick. I’ll wake you in a couple hours when you’re refreshed.”

One thumb rubbed back and forth on his palm. Nick reclined in his pillow, relaxing. He was safe while Monroe was here. His Blutbad wouldn’t allow anyone to touch him. Holding Monroe’s eyes Nick slipped his free arm across his belly.

“Knew I could trust you.”

Monroe grinned. “Yes.”

Nick smiled one of his brilliantly bright smiles and slipped into sleep with his guardian by his side.

 

**~ * ~**

The rest of the day passed swiftly, with Monroe only leaving Nick’s side to answer nature’s call. Even when the nurses finally kicked him out Monroe lurked in the darkness outside. Nick could have sworn he could sense Monroe’s presence patrolling the hospital ensuring no wayward Wesen got the idea to take out the weakened Grimm.

It was this knowledge that helped curb the worries that plagued Nick whenever nobody was present. It was also this that persuaded Nick to let go and sleep.

In much the same manner the next day rolled on. Monroe abandoned his vigil only to perform his Pilates – neither Nick or he wanted to disturb his regime too badly, as a testy Blutbad in a bustling hospital overflowing with the scents of human bodily fluids and medicines, wasn’t a wise idea.

Therefore, the third day of Nick’s confinement in hospital found him temporarily alone. That is, until Renard, Hank and Wu all appeared in his doorway. The three men hovered awkwardly in the entrance as if unsure of their welcome. Amused, Nick decided to put them out of their misery.

“Morning guys. You can enter if you want – unless you like the door that much.”

Renard smiled as he strode in. “Good to see you in brighter spirits detective.”

Hank strolled over offering a box of chocolates to Nick. “That’s because his boyfriend has been practically living here, right Nick?”

Nick fervently wished to wipe that horrible smirk off Hank’s face, but he still wasn’t up to that level of strength. Instead he glared.

“Boyfriend?” questioned Renard as he pulled a chair around to the left side of Nick’s bed, farthest from the entrance.

Both Hank and Nick answered simultaneously.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“The clock-maker dude Nick first insisted was the kidnapper in the Robin Howell case?”

Renard raised an eyebrow.

Nick protested. “I was wrong. Monroe is a great guy. We hit it off and now we’re friends.” Nick really wished that Hank would drop the subject, he was not only still anxious about his mixed feelings, but having Renard, who had changed in front of him, know explicitly about Monroe was somehow scary.

Wu, unfortunately did not aid affairs. “Sure he is Nick. Where is Romeo anyway? Hiding from the bad cop?”

“Bad cop?”

Wu grinned. “Someone has to interrogate him to ensure he’s clean. And since I’m obviously the only competent police officer in this department the task falls primarily to yours truly.”

“Hey, I didn’t become a detective on my looks alone,” complained Hank trying to get comfortable in a hospital chair.

“Sure, you believe that,” drawled Wu. “You can be my back-up.”

Nick decided to intervene before he had a war. “So, how did you all manage to sneak away from the office?”

Renard stretched out his long legs. “As Captain I thought it prudent to permit a visit so I wouldn’t have to discipline truant officers. That and I wanted to check if your results have come through. However, what about this ‘boyfriend’?”

“Monroe isn’t my boyfriend.”

“You doth protest too much,” remarked Wu. Then he caught Nick with his shrewd gaze. “Would you like him to be your boyfriend?”

Nick wasn’t sure how to answer, thoughts scrambled. Wu nodded as if Nick had confirmed whatever hypothesis he was harbouring.

“Excellent. Good thing I’m here. With a bit of work he’ll be your boyfriend before you’re out of the hospital.”

Dread washed through Nick. “No, wait Wu. I don’t think Monroe…”

Wu waved a hand dismissively. “From everything Hank’s told me the clock-maker is just as gone on you as you are on him. I just need to see you two interact and I’ll then be able to finalise my plans.”

Nick knew when he was beaten and hoped Monroe wouldn’t return until Wu had left, though considering his luck so far that was unlikely to be the case.

Thankfully, Hank spoke then. “So Nick, are you going to open the chocolates?”

Grateful for the change in topic Nick fumbled with the box. “I know you just want to eat the contents Hank. Save some for me huh?”

Hank chuckled. “Sure man.” Surprise showed when Nick nudged the box his way. “You don’t want any?”

“No, my stomach is still dodgy.” Apparently, his colleagues were better at hiding their worry now because Nick barely caught the flash of concern that crossed both Wu and Hank’s faces.

Renard arrested Nick’ attention. “How are you exactly Nick? Are the doctors giving you any medicine?”

Nick rolled his head to look at the Captain and shook his head. “No, only the same old drips.”

Renard frowned, displeased. However, before he could speak Dr Francis entered the room.

The doctor paused when he saw Nick’s visitors. “Ah…” he murmured. Glancing at Nick he said, “Good morning Nick. I have your test results.”

Nick froze. His very breath seemed trapped in his lungs. He searched Dr Francis’ expression, but the good doctor gave nothing away.

“What’s wrong with me?”

Dr Francis hesitated, eyes flicking over Hank, Renard and Wu.

“You can speak in front of them. Please Dr Francis, just tell me what disease I have.”

Nick didn’t care if the others stayed, he just wanted the not knowing to end, as the doubt was driving him crazy. To know what he had to fight was paramount if he was to maintain his sanity. He only wished Monroe was here.

Nick abruptly realised he did want Monroe there, the doubt may be making him climb the walls figuratively speaking, but instinct warned him that Monroe’s presence would be invaluable –and his aunt had told him to trust his instincts. “Unless you are fine wait a few minutes?”

He would survive if Dr Francis had the time to dawdle to grant Monroe the opportunity to arrive. “Monroe’s on his way,” he added.

Dr Francis smiled sadly. “Yes, I have the time. How long will he be?”

Nick did a hasty calculation. “Fifteen minutes tops?”

Dr Francis nodded and leant against the far wall, reading through his notes. The tension as the men waited mounted. No-one spoke. When Hank had tried Nick had purposefully turned his head to stare out the window.

He saw out of the corner of his eye Renard shaking his head at his partner. The silence was thick, the distant noises of the hospital surreal.

 _At Monroe’s at least the clocks would be company_ , thought Nick bitterly. _Where are you Monroe?_

Only the hush of the clock-less room greeted Nick’s question.

Nick continued to gaze out of the window his mind wandering between wondering what Dr Francis had to tell and willing Monroe to appear. Time was a nemesis, preventing both events from happening.

“Mornin..whoa. Is there a convention going on here?”

Monroe’s voice in that brief moment was the sweetest thing Nick had ever heard. Rolling over carefully Nick smiled. “Morning Monroe. They descended on me earlier.” Inclining his head towards the doctor Nick murmured. “He has my results.”

Immediately Monroe tensed and discarding the presence of Nick’s colleagues hurried over to Nick. Relieved, Nick urged with his eyes for Monroe to assist him.

Depositing the bag in his arms in Wu’s lap Monroe tenderly slipped an arm under Nick’s shoulder to hold him up as he adjusted the pillows underneath. With that support Nick managed to wriggle up and watch Monroe adjust the bed so that Nick was mostly in a sitting position.

He was relieved and happy. Nick didn’t like showing weakness, but he trusted Monroe so much that displaying how weakened he was, wasn’t uncomfortable – rather it was liberating.

Once they were finished Dr Francis came forward. “My name is Dr Francis; I don’t believe we have met Mr Monroe.”

“It’s just Monroe, Doctor.”

“Ah, my apologies.”

“Hey no problem.”

Monroe shook the proffered hand. “I wish I could say it was nice to meet you, but…you know…not the best..uh..situation.”

Dr Francis smiled. “Perfectly understandable. Please sit.”

There were no spare chairs, but as Hank rose to offer his chair – Nick noticed that Monroe had usurped Hank and Wu’s places by his bedside, his actions forcing them to move back – Monroe shrugged. “I’m fine standing.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Sit on the bed Monroe.” He frowned at the doctor, defying him to quote hospital rules.

Dr Francis however simply shrugged.

Slightly hesitatingly, Monroe cautiously perched on Nick’s bed. Nick winced as he moved over a little to give Monroe more space. Politely no-one mentioned it and Renard this time lent a helping hand over-riding Nick’s wariness at being handled by someone other than Monroe.

The contact of Monroe’s hip though dissolved his discomfort and Nick smiled up at Monroe, a nervous smile yet a smile nonetheless. Monroe smiled back, red gleaming in his eyes.

Dr Francis, clearing his throat, made them both looked at him. Nick observed that Hank and Wu exchanged knowing glances. _Crap._

“I have the test results Nick and they are all positive – they all confirm my diagnosis.”

Nick drew in shaky breath, Dr Francis’s expression was serious yet it was the kindness in his eyes that unnerved him.

“I am sorry to say you have cancer.”

Nick blinked. Had he heard right? Glancing at Monroe he saw the Blutbad wolf out before regaining control. Monroe turned his head and held Nick’s eyes. The strength in the deep brown orbs allowed Nick to ask, “What type Dr Francis?”

“The same as your Aunt’s. I am afraid it is quite advanced.”

Nick however had partially stopped listening. Hearing he had the same cancer as Aunt Marie stunned him. Fear bathed him in a cold sweat and he shut his eyes as tears sprang up, stinging.

_Please no._

He felt Monroe grip his hand and in relief squeezed. Monroe was real. Monroe would make sense of this terrible announcement.

“But it can still be cured right Dr Francis?” Monroe’s voice was a soothing rumble, the protection and determination in the tone vibrating through his being. “I mean, you doctors are always proclaiming how fantastic your drugs are, so what’s the first step now?”

If Dr Francis was offended he didn’t reveal so, he was probably used to upset family and patients. “We will try everything we can Monroe. I’m advising we start with medication instantly and follow through with chemotherapy. Nick is young and strong. Those factors increase his odds.”

Nick wanted to laugh, to sob and howl if Monroe let him. _Really? It didn’t for my aunt and she was stronger than most. Fuck, she was so strong the Wesen world cowered at the very mention of her name. But in the end my Aunt couldn’t defeat her cancer. She was so much stronger than I am. If Aunt Marie couldn’t survive then how can I possibly fight and win?_

“Nick? Nick?”

Monroe’s voice penetrated the din engulfing him. Nick felt like a drowning victim, surrounding by crashing waves yanking beneath the turbulent surface, his despair was the ocean and it was suffocating all hope out of him.

“Nick?” Worry had leached into Monroe’s previously steady voice. “Come on man, look me. Nick?” Gentler now and two fingers slipped under his jaw. Nick gulped, the warmth of those two fingers, the unwavering support they offered were life-lines.

Yet suddenly a new terror presented itself and Nick was afraid. What if Monroe left him? Abandoned him as a burden, a Grimm too weak to protect himself? Defenceless.

Alone.

“Okay Nick, enough.” There was no mistaking the command in Monroe’s usually easy-going tone. The fingers under his chin firmly and accepting no resistance titled his head up. Monroe’s other hand touched his eyes, the soft fabric of a cloth wiped over his lids and Nick reflexively blinked and opened his eyes.

Through a wet blur he saw Monroe, close and personal, his cologne a wonderful balm for Nick’s tortured soul. Then the cloth wiped at the corners of his eyes and tenderly over his eyes once more, absorbing his tears.

 _Like he is trying to mop up the ocean._ Nick almost giggled. Hysteria was assuredly rising now, cradling his fears.

His vision now cleared Nick realised that Monroe’s normal relaxed countenance was taut.

Red had bled into the edges of Monroe’s brown irises. “Nick?” Monroe called for probably the dozenth time.

This time Nick answered.

“Hey…” his broke, thick with all the conflicting emotions Nick was enduring. Infuriated at himself Nick attempted a second time. _Crap, you really are weak if you can’t even answer your friend._

“Monroe?”

Monroe smiled. The hand holding the…handkerchief? No surprise honestly, a very Monroe thing. Monroe’s hand dropped to the covers. The fingers under his chin moved so that his large hand was cradling the side of Nick’s face.

“Hey dude, you scared me and everyone else there for a moment.”

Monroe assessed him carefully and Nick swore his friend could actually catch the echoes of his berating thoughts for his mouth tightened.

“No beating yourself up either for not answering straight away. I know you’re an over-achiever but I’m stopping this self-recrimination and doubt fest right now. Got it?”

“Hear hear,” murmured Hank from somewhere behind Monroe.

Nick couldn’t smile. The churning depths were perilously close. He had never fought a nemesis that he couldn’t engage with, but now he faced one where he couldn’t physically battle or set his intelligence against.

It was terrifying: being so bereft of his normal means of defence and he also faced the prospect of Monroe leaving him. He had to know.

“Monroe?” Good, he had managed to articulate that better.

“Yeah?” Warm and soothing. Monroe’s hand remained cupping the side of Nick’s face.

“Are you leaving?” Nick saw the second that Monroe understood that Nick’s question was deeper than a mere query over him leaving.

Monroe frowned and Nick shivered as his friend’s eyes became fully scarlet and burned with such an intensity Nick was afraid he would be consumed by them. Monroe transformed, ears long, face angular with fur sprouting. His Wieder pal did nothing to stop or to reverse the half-transformation.

Instead Monroe glared at him.

“Leave? Never Nick. I’m going to be at your side night and day.” Monroe paused, as if scrambling for the right words. In the silence Nick heard the squeak of shoes on the hospital floor.

Then Renard’s voice drifted to his ears. “We’re leaving Nick.”

The address temporarily broke the spell uniting Monroe and Nick and the Grimm reluctantly tore his gaze away to face his captain. Renard’s tall dark figure stood by his bed. His eyes were dark yet compassionate. Nick was conscious of his Blutbad stiffening slightly beside him.

“I think you need some time to deal with the news.”

 _Yeah, I do._ “Thanks.”

Hank now appeared. “Hey buddy, we’ll be back.” His gaze cut to Monroe. “Look after him while we’re gone.” There was no mistaking the promise of pain in Hank’s tone if Monroe failed in his duty.

Monroe didn’t let it faze him. “That’ll be no problem. I’ll start by feeding him proper food.”

Nick couldn’t help but grin a little at his friend’s belief in a proper healthy diet. For a moment the bleak prognosis wasn’t so all encompassing.

Wu just smiled sadly, leaving with a quiet ‘goodbye’ and pointed look at Monroe.

Renard glanced at the doctor. “When can we expect to know more?”

Dr Francis winced. Renard obviously unnerved him. “We shall see how Nick responds to the initial treatment before saying anything further.”

A cold expression settled over Renard’s features and when he looked at him Nick could see the disaffection in the curl of the captain’s lip. “I’ll visit soon Nick.”

“Okay. See you soon.” Nick knew he was being rude but he just wanted Renard out of the door to ask Monroe about his reaction to the captain.

Renard simply nodded and barely looked at Monroe as he walked past. His exit left only Dr Francis in the room with Monroe and Nick.

Nick watched Dr Francis as he now walked around the bed. Nick didn’t want to hear the doctor speak but he had to. He had to confirm what this diagnosis meant for him…for being a Grimm…for Monroe…

The final consideration haunted Nick more than the others in its own twisted way.

“Do I really stand a chance Dr Francis? And tell me the truth.”

Monroe resumed his position, sliding an arm around his back, his left leg bent as he squeezed onto the bed beside Nick until his long body was tight and hot against his side and back. He tentatively rested his free right hand on Nick’s cover.

Nick quietly touched the back of Monroe’s palm, and Monroe hurriedly slipped his arm fully over the covers lying across Nick’s belly.

Breathing deeply and drawing comradeship from Monroe’s presence Nick waited for Dr Francis’ verdict.

Dr Francis sighed and sat down in Renard’s vacated chair. “Nick,” he said quietly, “I was honest to you before when I said you do stand a chance. Your cancer is advanced, but there is still time to reverse the damage and put it into remission.”

“If I had come sooner…?”

“Your odds might be increased, yet truthfully, it would not be much better.”

_At least I didn’t screw up too big then._

The red-headed doctor now seemed to be speaking more to Monroe as if he sensed…what? That Monroe would stay? Nick wasn’t sure. One minute he knew how silly his imaginings were that Monroe would abandon him after all they had been through together, but the next minute the dreadful news of his condition would loom and Nick would find himself lost in the swelling tides of despair and everything was grim, including the nasty fear that Monroe would leave. It was like having a goblin sitting on his shoulder sneering that no healthy and powerful Blutbad in their right mind would remain with a weakling Grimm.

Not when he had someone like Angelina to run with.

“We must begin with the first doses of your medication and you must take them when we say so. We ought to be able to release you if the medication proves beneficial after a week maybe less.” Dr Francis looked at Monroe.

“Perhaps Monroe will be able to aid in administering the medication?”

Ah…Nick could tell that the red-head was definitely fishing for information on their relationship. Monroe’s grip increased. “Sure doc. If Nick doesn’t mind I’ll help.”

Surprised and grateful, with a not too small surge of hope now rising, Nick peered up at Monroe.

The Blutbad smiled down at him. “Hey, you’re horrible at taking care of yourself Nick. He,” addressing Dr Francis now, “can’t even make himself a decent cup of coffee. What’s a guy to do? I have to be there, poking and prodding him. I’m the only one who isn’t afraid of him.”

_That’s probably true, most Wesen are terrified sick of me and Hank will feel guilty for ramming my pills down my throat. Monroe won’t take any crap and probably just Blutbad out on me if I try to be too clever._

“I can make coffee Monroe, not all of us like your expensive offerings. Some of us like being able to pronounce our coffee and stick with a plain old cup.”

“That’s why you drink my ‘expensive offerings’  by the gallon when you are over? Which is almost all the time by the way. You might as well move in and live with me.”

Nick stilled, frozen like a statue as he stared searchingly at Monroe. He hoped desperately that Monroe’s offer was serious because for Nick such a suggestion wasn’t casual; it implied a level of commitment that he realised he wanted.

Monroe’s house was already home to him but this…?

The teasing glint died in Monroe’s eyes as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. He opened his mouth to speak, appeared to decide this wasn’t the time and instead re-focused on Dr Francis.

“Is it okay for me to stay? I know I can’t stay the night but during the day? The nurses won’t throw me out will they? I’ll be quiet like a mouse.”

Any other time Nick would have laughed at the thought of a Blutbad comparing himself to a mouse, but he wanted the answer to his internal ramblings.

The doctor smiled. “As if we could stop you Monroe. Of course, I shall mention it to the nurses. You can’t remain the night, but please feel free to come early. Is that fine with you Nick?”

Nick nodded, too tense to speak.

“Very well, as I was saying, we should be able to release Nick soon. If you could sort out where you will be living Nick then we can ensure all correspondence concerning your appointments etcetera can be delivered to the correct address. I will return again this evening, I feel you require time to absorb everything I have said so far.”

“Yes,” whispered Nick. “Thank you.” Nick remembered to be polite.

“You’re welcome.”

“Bye doctor. Thanks for letting me stay.”

“No problem Monroe.”

Then he was gone leaving Nick alone at last with Monroe.

Silently they studied each other. Nick yearning to ask, for Monroe to clarify, yet his mind was a swirl of emotions, too many jostling for prime position for Nick to sensibly form coherent speech.

Monroe broke the stalemate once more gently touching Nick’s face. His eyes flashed red with nerves, his breath uneven.

“I meant what I said Nick. You should move in.” Monroe hesitated, rolling his shoulders as if rallying courage. “I… like you Nick. I never really enjoyed sharing my space with another being, Wesen or otherwise before. I gave that up when I became Wieder. But dude, when you blustered into my life at first it was an intrusion, yet now…well, it’s weird when you’re _not_ there. Do you understand what I’m saying? You’re my friend and at some point I started viewing you as family.

“Nick, you’re gonna have to help me here, I’m basically saying I want you to move in. Live with me. Blutbaden are bad in packs but we make one pretty awesome Grimm and Blutbad pair so yeah, I think we’re covered if one or the other loses their shit and deals mayhem on the world.”

Monroe stuttered to a halt twitching as he darted glances around the room.

Nick swallowed at the depth of feeling he heard in Monroe’s voice and words. It answered most of his doubts. “Yeah, Monroe I’ll move in. On one condition.”

“Yes?” Heck, but did Monroe sound hopeful and the happy grin eating Monroe’s face did a lot for Nick’s bruised ego.

“It’s permanent.” Nick held his breath. He may not be able to be Monroe’s lover, though now he had a glimmer of hope that they could be, but damn if he would accept being thrown out.

Monroe actually laughed, the bastard. “Sure Nick! As if I’d kick your Grimm ass out. I wouldn’t forgive myself. Who’d take care of you huh when you took on a Wesen without my trusty backup? Anyway, friends don’t throw friends out.”

Nick relaxed, relief a sweet heady wine. “Friends, Monroe.” He weakly gripped Monroe’s right hand, too drained to hold tighter.

Monroe became serious. “Friends,” he repeated softly.

Nick was trapped in the moment as he and Monroe gazed at each other, silently confirming their declarations of friendship. The affirmation of their bond was enough to smack the goblin off his shoulder, its taunts of Monroe leaving him dust.

Slowly, Monroe’s face wolfed out, not in fear, anxiety or anger, but in pleasure and Nick struggled to raise a hand. His friend answered his plight and bent down.

Picking up Nick’s hand Monroe raised it to his face and Nick grinned at the permission he had been granted.

Touching Monroe’s cheek Nick traced the cheekbone, so sharp now. Up to Monroe’s ears he ran his fingers awed by the pointed tip and how sensitive they were, for Monroe hissed and braced his arm against Nick’s pillow – carefully though, mindful of the fact Nick was still resting against his arm.

Marvelling at the rough feel of the fur Nick did what he had wanted to do for a while: he brushed Monroe’s eyebrows and Monroe growled. Not a fearsome warning growl but more a confused one with a hint of ‘hmmmm…this is nice…’

Nick grinned. Rubbing the eyebrows briefly, eliciting a deeper growl, Nick ruefully moved on, trailing his fingers down Monroe’s nose until he took his turn and rested his palm against Monroe’s cheek and chin.

No brown remained in Monroe’s eyes and a steady rumble emanated from Monroe’s chest. Eyes locked Monroe leaned down until they lost eye contact and Nick’s hand fell to the bed. He felt Monroe place his cheek on the top of his head.

Aware that more was going on and that neither them were ready to give words to what was happening as it was all so raw, Nick closed his eyes determined to revel in the moment.

 

~ * ~

 

Eventually however Monroe stirred. They had fallen back on the bed, Monroe only leaving to shut the door so they had some privacy. They had ended up stretched out together, Nick resting in Monroe’s careful embrace.

Nick had cried. Monroe had held him allowing Nick to weep his fears over his condition. They hadn’t spoken of the cancer – Monroe seemed to know in his usual way that Nick wasn’t prepared for that yet.

He required the mental space to process not only the news from Dr Francis but this strange new bond with Monroe. So, they lay together, touching and crying, Monroe’s growls a comforting background melody.

So when Monroe started to sit up it was a shock. Nick was unsure how much time had passed and he wished again for the presence of Monroe’s clocks as his Blutbad extricated his arms from around the Grimm.

Nick shifted his head from Monroe’s chest and peered through red rimmed eyes up at the Blutbad. Monroe had an apologetic expression.

“Sorry Nick, but I have to go. I have to sort out a few loose ends so that I can stay in the hospital with you as long as necessary. Make phone calls – stuff of that nature.”

Nick had the selfish urge to scream screw Monroe’s responsibilities. Shouldn’t Nick be the most important priority now? But that petty desire faded under the tortured gaze of his friend.

Monroe pretty obviously didn’t wish to leave, but he had to. Just like Nick as a Grimm and a cop, Monroe, as a clockmaker and upstanding Wieder Blutbad to impressionable youngsters (otherwise known as Holly), had people who relied on him.

“I promise Nick I’ll return as soon as I can. Super Blutbad speed, remember? Be back faster than your Grimm ass can behead a crazed Wesen.”

“Aren’t the odds unfairly in your favour?”

“Ha…gotta grab every chance you can get with a Grimm.”

“Even me?”

Monroe’s eyes twinkled. “You especially, since you seem to absorb danger like paper tissues mop up water!”

Nick couldn’t help but feel slightly cheered by Monroe’s antics. “Hurry back.”

Monroe turned serious and whispered fiercely, Blutbaden protectiveness rising to the fore, “I will Nick. I swear.”

Nick swallowed, tears threatening again. He simply nodded not wishing to sob again. Monroe bent down and chastely kissed his temple. The scratch of Monroe’s beard was a soothing salve to his distressed self.

Then Monroe straightened and loped out of the room without another word. Nick caught the flash of red eyes and wolf-like features and knew that Monroe was deeply affected and needed time himself to deal.

Draping an arm over his eyes Nick’s head dropped back onto his pillow. He was weary in body and soul.

The whole situation was too much to fully process. Now that Monroe had left the fear had returned, casting a grisly shadow over his being. His thoughts turned dark.

_How am I going to manage? Dr Francis says I have a chance, but I saw my Aunt’s suffering. There was nothing anyone could do for her._

_The cancer slowly but surely eked out all life from Aunt Marie, depleting her until she was dependent on the gadgets hooked into her._ Nick shifted, lowering his arm to the bed, it ached to hold it up for too long, even resting on his face. Dully he tried curling to his side, cradling the pained limb across his chest. His back to the door  Nick continued his grey wallowing.

_But Aunt Marie still successfully fought off an attacker! Even wasted as she was._

Nick basked in a momentarily well of pride, before reality intruded.

 _Yeah and I can’t even pull myself up the bed without Monroe’s help. I’m pathetic. A disgrace to my Aunt, to all Grimms and even to other police._ Nick wanted to punch something, anything, to try and remove his bitterness.

_How the hell am I going to survive and beat this foe?_

“Detective?” The dry whisper scratched at his misery and Nick cautiously rolled over. The last person he expected stood just inside his room.

Holly Clark.

A nervous worried expression creased her beautiful face. She was staring at him with wide-eyed alarm, nostrils flaring slightly.

 _Shit, she can smell me._ Nick didn’t know how he must smell like to poor Holly, his distress was probably a tangible beast to her and an unpleasant one at that. Not really in the mood for visitors, but unable to resist Holly – or any child truthfully – Nick yanked on a soothing demeanour.

“Hey Holly. I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you okay? Your mother?”

Holly nodded and just then Mrs Clark appeared behind her daughter. Nick smiled past the lump in his throat.

The pure happiness in Mrs Clark’s eyes was a wonder to behold. She had regained her daughter after nine long years of dread tinged hope and the joy at their reunion had not faded yet.

Nick doubted it ever would, not even when she was upset or angry at Holly’s behaviour, because for Mrs Clark her world had been granted back to her the day Holly was brought out of the forest and to her house.

He could understand in some small way: Nick felt that about Monroe.

Speaking of which…”Mrs Clark, it’s nice to see you. Are you here visiting friends? Oh and please enter.”

Mrs Clark smiled and gently encouraged her child through the door. Holly stepped further into the room nose twitching, glancing side to side, wary like a wild animal. Nick was saddened to witness that Holly was still cautious after two months of no longer living in the woods, but then that had been her life for nine years: fending for herself, no one else to seek comfort from until Nick and Monroe had wandered into her territory expressly to retrieve her. You don’t immediately cast off your old life. It took time.

Holly reached his bed and tentatively reached out. Nick moved his hand a little on the bed spread, he didn’t want to try and sit up and potentially scare Holly with how weak he was.

Holly’s face shifted and Nick remembered to breathe, Mrs Clark was unaware of the Blutbad nature of her daughter.

A calloused hand, roughened by a tough life in the woods, touched his. Warmth seeped into hands and Nick shivered a little at the caresses of fur and the faintest press of claws as Holly enclosed his hand in hers.

Staring at him Nick was arrested by the bright unshed tears in her lovely brown eyes with flickers of red.

“Detective…?” Holly’s voice was still a touch unsure. It was no longer raspy from disuse but Holly, while bright and a fast learner still had years to make up for and she sometimes stumbled as she adjusted to the human world she now discovered herself in.

Nick smiled. “Nick, Holly.”

Pausing, Nick stared curiously at Holly and her mother. Why were they here? He repeated his earlier question. “So are you here visiting a friend Holly?”

Mrs Clark answered his question. “No, we came to visit you.” She settled into a chair, removing her coat to reveal elegant clothes. Mrs Clark was a still a beautiful woman and Nick hoped she would find someone to love her and for Holly.

 “How did you know?” Nick was reasonably sure that Blutbaden weren’t psychic.

“Monroe called!”

A genuine gasp of amusement slid past Nick’s lips at the sheer joy expressed in Holly’s exclamation. She absolutely adored Monroe, bonding with him instantly in the forest and still just as attached now as she was that fateful day just two months ago.

And while Monroe grumbled occasionally about “regime upsetting teenagers”, Nick knew he was pleased to have Holly in his life. He was assisting her in living as a Wieder Blutbad, learning to live among humans without accidently (or intentionally) killing or harming them, learning of other Wesen and the nightmares to be ever alert for (that is Grimms) and even more importantly not feeling alone. 

Mrs Clark chuckled. “Monroe telephoned not long ago. He was ringing to say that he would be unable to give Holly any cello lessons,” Nick recalled the excuse that Monroe and he had fashioned to explain Holly’s vital visits to Monroe, “and he explained that it was because you were ill in hospital.”

Mrs Clark’s eyes flashed with worry. _You know,_ thought Nick, _but Holly doesn’t?_

Nick stared at Mrs Clark briefly before looking at Holly. He had seen the unspoken reply in her eyes. Holly didn’t know the true diagnosis. She understood that he was very sick, but not the actual cause. Nick knew that Holly realised he was pretty ill, because of how the young girl watched him. The manner she discreetly scented the air around Nick, crinkling her nose at the stench of disease and the hospital.

He was grateful that both Monroe and Mrs Clark had shielded his true condition from Holly. She was close to him, not as attached as to Monroe, yet still close. The possibility of losing him could undo weeks of hard work. Better to wait until they had a stronger prediction for the final outcome, then if needs be, they could slowly acclimatise Holly.

Nick forced back tears. Instead he smiled at Holly and did his best to wriggle his fingers in her handhold. It brought a grin to Holly’s lips.

Holly cocked her head. “Nick… bought jello.” She looked at her mother who pulled out of a bag a few pots of different jello.

“Monroe said you couldn’t stomach anything particularly solid and nothing with a potent flavour. Now, I know jello can be quite strong in taste, but I thought that maybe since it is sweet and easy to swallow it might be soothing and light.” Mrs Clark offered one pot to Nick.

Nick gripped it in his free hand. It was strawberry. “Thank you.”

Mrs Clark nodded. “If you eat it gradually it could be good for you. Would you like me to open one for you?”

She must have seen how drained he was. A very perceptive lady. Nick hesitated. He wasn’t sure, but sensing Holly’s anxious gaze he agreed.

Mrs Clark arranged the various jello pots on his bedside table: they made a lovely rainbow.

“Which flavour Detective Burkhardt?”

“Please, Nick, Mrs Clark.”

“Only if you call me Amber, Nick.”

“Of course.”

Nick eyed he pots. “Blackcurrant?” he ventured. Nick hoped that would be alright. He happened to like blackcurrants so maybe that would be an incentive to keep the dessert down.

Mrs Clark – no, Amber – picked up the purplish pot and peeled off the lid. Rustling up a plastic spoon that had been lurking in the depths of the bag Amber handed both to her daughter.

“I believe Holly would like to speak to you privately Nick.” She caught Holly’s gaze. “Now darling, don’t tire Nick out. He’s not feeling to good. I’m putting you in charge of the jello to ensure he actually eats some of it – men can’t be trusted!”

Nick coughed; amused by Amber’s light-hearted teasing that yet concealed the darker aspect of how limited he was now.

Holly grinned. “Yes Mom.”

When Amber left shutting the door, Holly faced Nick and her eyes were red hot coals. “Nick..?”

“Yes?”

Pausing, Holly looked down at the jello pot in her hands. Precisely she scraped a spoonful out and raised it to Nick’s lips. Nick’s heart clenched. The care in the sweet action reminded him of when his own mom would feed him when ill and later when Aunt Marie would tend him when sick with fever, rationing out fluid and small morsels to his mouth.

_Don’t cry!_

With difficultly Nick accepted the quivering goo and swallowed. For a brief second the taste was too profound then it slid easily down his gullet and rested lightly in his belly. Nick relaxed. _I can do this._

After two more mouthfuls Holly twiddled the spoon and then stared at him urgently.

“No!”

Nick blinked.

Holly appeared distressed, desperate. She leaned close, nose centimetres from his nose. Nick didn’t dare budge. Her eyes were scarlet pools drawing him forward. Her features were wolfen.

“Sadness.” Holly cocked her head, frowning. “Smell your…pain?”

Nick winced. He hadn’t wanted that. Anger at himself coursed through his veins.

Holly frowned. She rubbed her nose all of a sudden against his cheek. Nick breathed harshly. _Whoa._

“Holly?” his voice sounded alien to his own ears, hoarse and worried as it tumbled out.

Holly simply growled and pulled back to stare into his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“No.”

Holly’s tone was empathic, agitation showing in the way her face flickered form human to wolf and back.

Ignoring the dangerously balanced pot in her hand Holly pressed her forehead against his, not breaking eye contact.

“You came for me. Into the forest. You and Monroe.” Holly rubbed their foreheads together. “Chased me through the trees, when I growled and hissed. Never left, just came after me.”

Holly paused as if seeking words. Her frustration at trying to pry out the words was evident in her annoyed hiss.

“Hey,” murmured Nick. He wanted to tell Holly not to fret and that he thought he understood her, but Holly spoke, her voice a hesitant rumble.

“Found me, fixed me. You gave me a home. You gave me my Mom back.”

Tears splashed onto Nick’s face and Nick knew his own tears were wetting his cheeks. Holly lifted her head, red eyes full of determination and awe – the look arrested his soul.

“Monroe said other Grimms wouldn’t have come: left me to the trees. Or kill me, but you didn’t. You’re different Monroe said. And you are. You helped me, saved me.”

Holly shifted, laying her head on Nick’s shoulder. “You protected me.”

She drew away and Nick mourned the absence of the heavy warmth on his shoulder.

“You are strong.”

Holly once again leaned down and Nick wondered what she would do, heart thumping, mind a daze. Her nose touched his, fur against skin. Her breath was hot, reminding Nick of the forest she lived in for so long.

“Don’t give up. Have me too. I come for you like you for me.”

Holly picked up Nick’s hand and nuzzled his palm, rough fur running over his skin.

“Stay. Will stay and protect Nick.”

Fearsome eyes met his and Nick’s world disappeared in a teary blur. “Thanks Holly.”

A whine answered him and Nick felt Holly’s furry cheek against his own cheek, felt her pointed ears. Felt her tongue as she licked the juncture just beneath his chin and the top of his throat. With supreme effort and caution Nick raised his hand and rested it on Holly’s head.

Closing his eyes he allowed his tears to run in the face of such a confession. Love and gratitude met Holly’s own love and gratitude, mingling in a sea of sweet pain.

 

~ * ~

 

Holly and her mom had left.

They had stayed for an hour in total – some of that time had been devoted to Nick and Holly bonding.

Once their tears had run dry; Nick too exhausted to cry any longer and Holly impatient with the vigour of youth to reinforce her message of support; Holly had shed Nick’s hand and with a gentleness that belied her underlying strength, had finished feeding him the jello.

It had been a surreal experience and Nick was still reeling from it all.

Holly’s words were like firebrands in his soul. He hadn’t forgotten his illness or the crippling nature of his condition, but Holly’s innocent yet passionate devotion were like lifesavers in a sea of despair.

Now when Nick mulled on the cancer that was chewing away at his body the memory of Holly and her visit would bob in the current of his fears allowing Nick to grab at the strength they offered.

Nick was terribly grateful to Amber for bringing Holly because Holly’s assurances, while not banishing his agony and misgivings, were beacons of hope, helping to assuage the loneliness that also ate away at his will.

In the wake of their visit Nick spirits were heightened, enough that he felt encouraged to call a nurse to raise his bed slightly. She had done so and Nick was now propped up in a half sitting, half-reclining position that made him feel that much less vulnerable.

Laying so, Nick brushed the fingers of his right hand around the area where the intravenous drip was inserted in his left arm. His skin tingled, sensitive to the lightest of touches. His right shoulder throbbed with the movement, still sore from when he had lifted his arm to rest his right hand on Holly’s head.

The mere thought of Holly brought a small bittersweet smile to Nick’s face. Allowing his right hand to rest, draped over his left arm Nick twisted his head, catching sight of the rainbow assortment of jello pots.

A sensation he hadn’t experienced in a long time welled up: hunger.

 _Really? I’m hungry for jello of all things?_ Hardly able to believe that after a month of barely being able to stomach even a mouthful of food Nick stared in amazement at the small pots. It wasn’t as if he could suddenly eat a full meal, but something about how light and fresh, yet tantalisingly sweet the wobbly jello was, dredged up a fragment of hunger instead of nausea and bile.

He was just contemplating on trying another jello pot, though admittedly he would have to call for assistance when Nick someone spoke.

“May I enter Detective Burkhardt?”

The voice was eerily familiar, educated notes rolling off the speaker’s tongue. Glancing up Nick saw that his visitor was none other than Frank Rabe.

 _What the hell is he doing here?_ Utterly stunned, Nick blinked.

He hadn’t seen Frank Rabe since the trial of his son and wife on what had been his second case as a Grimm.

In the intervening period the strain had taken its toll on the older man. He was snappily clad in a sleek dark blue suit with matching white and blue striped tie and crisp white shirt. He was shod in polished black shoes that probably cost six months of Nick’s salary, but dark shadows haunted his eyes and his mouth was thin, small lines creasing the corners where stress plucked away at him and his cheeks were hollow.

All in all, the Jägerbär appeared as a man who had spent a few months paying the price for neglecting his family and having his wife poison his son’s head with tales of tradition and family honour.

However, what precisely was Frank Rabe doing here? Forgetting the whole knowing Nick was ill – Nick couldn’t exactly be his favourite person in the whole wide world so why come?

Wary and realising he needed to answer Nick said, “Sure.” _After all, he can’t do much, the nurses are just outside and I can hear people in the corridor._

“Thank you.”

“Just leave the door open.”

“Understood detective.”

Moving in Frank Rabe sat in the chair closest to Nick, setting his briefcase carefully on the floor by his feet. He observed Nick with dark brown eyes.

“You are most likely wondering why I am here.”

“Yeah…I can’t exactly be your favourite person so I am a bit surprised.”

Nick saw the surprise wash over Frank Rabe’s face. Genuine incredulity coloured the Jägerbär’s voice when he spoke.

“You think I dislike you Detective Burkhardt?”

Nick was beyond confused by Frank Rabe’s visit now; he was completely baffled by the question and manner of his visitor. “Ummm…yes? Sorry Mr Rabe, but I did assist in locking your son and wife away. These acts don’t normally endear any police officer to family members and well…I’m a…” Nick attempted to gesture with his hand, winced at the sudden pins and needles and settled for raising an eyebrow, “…a Grimm.”

Enlightenment dawned on the Jägerbär’s face. “Ah…I see.” Sighing Frank Rabe stood, took off his pristine jacket and precisely hung it over the back of the chair so it wouldn’t become creased. Sitting again he met Nick’s gaze, an expression of apology on his face.

Nick rested his head back on his pillow cautiously meeting Frank Rabe’s intense look. His fingers were curled weakly over the button to summon a nurse. His nerves were on fire, but Nick knew that he was too weak to fight and besides, at the moment curiosity was winning the battle over defence.

Speaking once more Frank Rabe never let his gaze wander from Nick. The Grimm had the most powerful feeling that whatever Frank Rabe wanted to tell him next was very important. He stayed silent, employing the patience of the police when waiting for a witness or suspect to spill a vital piece of evidence.

“I am not angry or resentful at you Detective Burkhardt. On the contrary, I am very grateful to you.”

“What? Uh, I mean, pardon?” Nick was sure his hearing had gone on the blink, or maybe he was suffering a hallucination? Not a far flung possibility considering his ravaging headaches…

A rueful smile appeared. “Is it so unbelievable Detective? When you came to me that third time insisting that my son was reviving the old ways and intending to undergo the Roh-hatz, you allowed me to accompany you. No…you _gave me the choice to help._ ” Frank Rabe leaned forward eyes feverish. “You gave me the chance to stop my son without resorting to killing him – or my wife.”

Frank Rabe straightened, guessing that Nick was not thrilled at having him so close. “Clearly you don’t realise how extraordinary your offer was.”

“I did what any police officer would have done.”

Frank Rabe laughed, but it was tinged with bitterness. “What any police officer would have done yes. What any Grimm would have done? _No_.”

Nick shifted uneasily. “I’m not a killer.”

Frank Rabe’s grin was real. “No, you still don’t understand. I barely understood at the time either.”

His face transformed, black fur mottling his flesh, nose flattened and rounded. Ears a tad rounder.

“Detective Burkhardt what you did that day was unique to the Wesen and Grimm worlds. How many Grimms do you think would have granted me the option to assist them in tracking my son and preventing him from killing those innocent, if foolish, young humans, so that the Grimm in question wouldn’t have to use fatal force? None I have heard of or encountered.

“Detective, as a Grimm you represent the ultimate predator of the Wesen world. You hunt us down, killing those Wesen that try and hurt the humans out there. The majority of us try and stay below radar, especially those of us who have no desire to cleave to the traditional paths. However, that doesn’t stop a Grimm from investigating and potentially hunting us if they stumble across us.”

Nick felt sick with horror at what Frank Rabe was implying. “Are all Grimms so unforgiving?”

“Before I met you I would have said unequivocally ‘yes’, but perhaps I was wrong. However, what I’m saying stands Detective. You proved yourself something that no Grimm we Wesen knew of existed: merciful.

“You truly are the ‘law enforcement’ of the Wesen world. By helping you save the humans, you allowed me to save my son. You gave me the chance to talk to my son and deter him from the twisted path my wife set him on.”

Frank Rabe’s nose twitched and when he bent down again Nick caught a whiff of musk – the scent of the wild. “I’ve been permitted an opportunity that few receive: a second chance. And that chance is far more precious than it already is, for one thing only: a Grimm offered it to a Wesen – a ‘monster’ he was meant to hunt and destroy.”

Nick’s head was spinning. How many shock confessions he could withstand today? The news he had cancer, Monroe’s declaration Nick would live with him and Monroe would care for him, Holly’s insistence he was strong yet didn’t have to walk alone…and now Frank Rabe with his unrelenting exposé on Grimms and their relations to the Wesen world, specifically Nick to Frank Rabe.

_I wonder if this is what a priest feels like when sitting in a confessional and his parishioners keep on coming, exposing their very selves to him._

A soft press to his hand returned Nick to the moment.

Frank Rabe was just touching his hand with his fingers. Slowly, so as if not to spook him, he engulfed Nick’s smaller hand in his large paw, for the hand was dark with fur, the underside soft though Nick imagined the top might be rough like Monroe’s – who knew?

An ache for Monroe flared up and Nick gulped. The emotions Frank Rabe was creating were stirring others that Nick was trying to suppress for the present, so he could survive until Monroe returned.

Frank Rabe continued: his speech rough with conviction. “That second shot at putting our lives back on track from a Grimm is akin to having someone presenting you with untold treasure and wealth: fortune beyond measure.”

Nick was aware of the sting in his eyes as he struggled to absorb what Frank Rabe was saying. He had never had someone tell him quite so voraciously that his actions were so singular and had such a profound impact.

“I’m telling you this because I know you are ill.”

“How?” Nick grimaced at how broken he sounded. He was a bubbling cauldron ready to spill.

“I am a lawyer Detective and I was at the station when I overheard two of your colleagues having a discussion. Humans don’t realise that a distance of a flimsy few feet in a crowded office mean nothing to a Jägerbär. Don’t judge them badly Detective, they couldn’t have known.”

The pressure on his hand increased for a brief second before relaxing. “When I finally understood that it was you the men were discussing and that it was cancer, advanced, I finished as quickly as possible and rushed down here.”

Nick wanted to ask again ‘why’, but he was unable to.

“I came to repay the debt that I owe you. I do not know how a man can repay someone who gave back the lives of his family, but I’ll attempt to.”

Sucking in a big breath Frank Rabe sank back in the chair. Sincerity dripped from him as he said, “I can’t cure you, but I can make your life easier. Anything you require in relation to house deeds, acknowledging your medical rights and any care you are entitled to, sickness rights and…” Here Frank Rabe paused then marshalled his courage. “And a will…just contact me.”

 _A will…in case I…_ Nick quailed, the thought of his mortality a ghastly shadow plunging its claws into him. Then Monroe’s face floated into his mind. _Monroe… At least with Frank Rabe I can be more open. Monroe will be okay if I don’t…if I don’t make it…_

The admission was terrifying. As a cop…as a Grimm he knew that he could die and had made his peace with that, but to die from a disease he couldn’t fight, at least with conventional means? Soul crushing. Yet, the admission was tempered with relief. Frank Rabe’s offer provided a way to strike back at the cancer, to ensure that the last person that Nick loved more than he had considered conceivable was cared for when he was no longer around… _Oh fuck_.

Nick breathed shallowly. The grief at thinking he might not live to see Monroe in his old age; _their_ old age was as if he was being strangled, the air gradually being expelled from his chest. The relief therefore that he had the opportunity to do something was overwhelming and mixing with his grief and depression, not to mention the heady effect of Frank Rabe’s confession.

His head was pounding as his vision grew splotchy.

Nick forced himself to focus on the Jägerbär.

Frank Rabe loosened his tie as if he too was overwrought with the strength of his feelings. “I mean it Detective Burkhardt, if you have any concerns regarding such things under the law or any other related worries please use my services. I know people and it will be for free.”

Frank Rabe cut off his protest. “No, don’t argue. Please Detective…this is my small, meagre way of saying thank you, of showing my gratitude, of showing that a Wesen is as capable of a Grimm of casting aside our differences and being…” The Jägerbär cocked his head. “…of being confidants.”

 _Shit._ That unleashed the seething waters of Nick’s emotions and he gasped, groaning as he doubled over.

“Detective? Detective Burkhardt?”

Frank Rabe’s alarmed calls echoed above him. Nick tried to reply but couldn’t, tears sliding down his cheeks, his nose weeping – all in the face at the forthright praise and unrestrained offer to help ease Nick’s way through his illness. The fact that Frank Rabe thought he was better than other Grimms was as staggering as when he first started seeing the true faces of these fairy tale creatures.

_You’re not like other Grimms._

 It was too much to bear. Hiccupping Nick moaned. As his stomach rolled he regretted consuming the jello.

Powerful hands gently but firmly gripped his shoulders. “Shall I call a nurse?”

Nick managed to shake his head.

“Okay. Wait a moment.”

Through his gasps and streaming nose and eyes Nick heard Frank Rabe fumbling then a sick bowl was pushed under his chin and then a wad of tissues were being softly wiped over his face, swabbing up his bodily fluids.

“Breathe Detective,” was the steady whisper at his side. “Come on Grimm…you can do it. Here…” A break in the mopping front and then the rim of a glass was placed against his wet lips. “Have a bit of water – just a sip!”

Nick obeyed. A hand – a paw – rubbed his back, oh-so-tenderly, like he was a cub.

“I am sorry Detective-”

Nick shook his head again. No way was he allowing Frank Rabe to feel guilty. The lawyer subsided and continued his administrations, alternatively wiping and giving water.

Eventually, Nick felt his chest ease as the constricting hold on his throat slackened. His head was heavy, numb with all he felt and thought. His belly was still uneasy and Nick hacked. Only a bit of water came up and yet Nick drooped as a little of the tension in his body dispersed.

As Frank Rabe put aside the bowl and placed a worried hand on his forehead they were interrupted by a quivering shout.

“What the hell are you doing? Get away from him Jägerbär!”

Wondering who could be possibly visiting him _now_ Nick tried seeing past Frank Rabe who had stiffened and protectively hunched over him.

_Oh great a Jägerbär is my bodyguard. Monroe will laugh his ass off._

“I’m checking if Detective Burkhardt is well. Now if I may ask, who are you to deliver such a threat Reinigen? You obviously know who he is since you are here. Why should I believe you to be a friend instead of an enemy?”

A splutter of incredulity hit Nick’s ears. “Because I’m not a big hulking bear and so not going to fucking eat him that’s why!”

_Yeah, I know that mix of indignation and brashness anywhere._

“Roddy?”

“Detective?”

Frank Rabe shifted, still keeping a close eye, presumably on Roddy. “You know him?” he asked Nick, surprise etched into his tone.

“Well, if I could see him I’d know for certain, but that voice and attitude is pretty much unmistakable.”

Clearly supremely reluctant to expose the sick Grimm to potential danger the Jägerbär moved aside enough so that Nick could glimpse his outraged protector.

A young teenage boy, tall with curly black hair stood just inside his room, holding his violin case in front of him like a shield, but with the aura of one who intended to use it as a club if needs be. Terror flickered over the handsome features causing them to spring from rat form to human back and forth like a flick book containing cartoon pictures.

It was Roddy Geiger.

And he was facing a Jägerbär, because said Jägerbär was between him and Nick and usually Jägerbärs and Grimms were not the best of pals. Nick wanted to howl, because he couldn’t be sure if he could take so many shocks in such a short period of time.

Honestly…discovering that a Reinigen – a Wesen on the bottom of the pecking order as Monroe described – was willing to confront a Wesen most likely on the top, (Nick privately placed Blutbaden on the top with Jägerbärs just underneath, in honour of Monroe, not that he had informed Monroe, the Blutbad would just shake his head in exasperation), but back to business…

Yeah…knowing all of the above was an emotional punch to the gut Nick wasn’t sure his worn mind or heart could bear.

He had to do something though before he had a bloodbath – he would have his breakdown later.

“Hi Roddy.”

“Hey Nick.”

Nick looked up at Frank Rabe. “He is a friend, but thanks for jumping in front of me.”

The lawyer shook his head. “A Reinigen and a Grimm?” He stepped away from the bed and seemed suddenly amused. He glanced at Roddy before looking at Nick. “And you are stunned when I tell you how unique among your brethren you are? I hope you realise the truth now.”

Roddy bristled. “Of course he’s fucking unique! He helped me didn’t he?”

“If you say so,” Frank Rabe appeared to be enjoying Roddy’s annoyance. A happy smile tugged at his mouth and a light Nick hadn’t seen since Frank arrived shone in his eyes – it wasn’t the fevered gleam of a man on a mission as he had been, rather the light there was real: pleasure.

It was a miracle.

A nut of an idea blinked into existence and Nick decided to feed it to his audience.

“Why are you here Roddy?”

Roddy watched Frank Rabe warily as he approached Nick. He looped around to the farthest side from the door, so that he stood on Nick’s left. Focusing on Nick he breathed shallowly.

“Monroe called saying he had to cancel our Wednesday lessons for a while, until you were out of hospital.” Roddy paused then barrelled on ahead. “He said you had been diagnosed from cancer. He was torn up bad.”

Nick’s heart clenched.

“So I dropped everything and hightailed it here.”

Nick swallowed. “To…?”

Roddy frowned. “To see you obviously.” The ‘duh’ was implied. “It was weird having a Blutbad blubber on the phone so someone had to man up and come here.”

Nick wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. “I’m glad you came over Roddy.”

Roddy shifted awkwardly, too embarrassed to meet Nick’s gaze as he mumbled, “Yeah.”

“Is Monroe okay?” _Please let him be okay and … and not having second thoughts._ Nick hated himself for his continuous doubts yet his depression and fear were like the tide, rising and falling with no rhyme or reason.

Roddy frowned. “I guess. He’s rushing to see you. I popped over there before I got on a bus to here and he was frantic-”

“With organising his work I should imagine,” cut in Frank Rabe smoothly. “It’s an adult thing: we rush here and there, never stopping to breathe and realise if we just calmed down for a second everything would be done more quickly – or at least with less haste.”

The lawyer pinned Roddy with eyes gone dark. “This ‘Monroe’ was most likely simply concerned over leaving his work unfinished. I’m guessing,” Nick startled as Frank Rabe’s stare switched to him, “from what Roddy said, he is trying to order his responsibilities so that he may spend time visiting you in hospital. Hardly shocking therefore he’s in bit of a state.”

Nick would have happily _kissed_ Frank Rabe for the manner in which he had swooped in to banish his alarm. _A damn knight in shining armour._

Though the image of Frank Rabe in armour was almost too much and Nick fought to restrain laughter, it would only render him breathless.

_Now where is my prince huh? Fairy tales leaving a lot to be desired here._

“Sure,” Roddy’s agreement sliced through the tension. There was grudging respect in his inflection when he said, “You’re not bad for a Jägerbär.”

“Ah…I’m not sure whether the approval of teenagers is something to be scared of or not.”

“Be afraid,” advised Nick, feeling a smidgeon of humour rise within. He remembered what he was trying to do. “Roddy is not a normal teenager – he plays the violin like an angel according to Monroe.”

“An angel? No fucking way.”

“Language,” both Nick and Frank Rabe said simultaneously.

Roddy glared. Nick traded amused looks with Frank Rabe.

“Yes he did Roddy. Mr Rabe, Roddy here can play so well he had a scholarship to the Von Hamelin Music Institute, until some jealous students had him kicked out.”

“The Von Hamelin Music Institute?” repeated the Jägerbär, interested.

“Yes.”

Roddy growled. “Yeah they were jerks, but they won’t be making anyone’s life hell for a while.” Nick shook his head at the smirk the Reinigen wore.

“That’s correct, but you’ve promised not to summon your rats again for such purposes, remember?”

“Yeah…I mean yes Nick.”

_I bet you have. I think this requires another talk with Monroe._

“Rats?” inquired Frank Rabe, suitably intrigued.

“It’s a long story.” Nick glanced at Roddy. “I may tell it to you another time, but for now…”

“I shall leave you two alone,” finished Frank Rabe smoothly. He stood, retrieving his jacket off the chair. “I will wait just outside in case you need me Detective.”

The Jägerbär looked at Roddy and added, “Or if you require my services Mr..?”

“Geiger. Roddy Geiger. Though don’t know why you want to help a Reinigen,” muttered the scowling teenager.

Frank Rabe picked up his briefcase. “For the same reason why we are both here I should imagine: Detective Burkhardt. If a Grimm can inspire a Jägerbär, a Reinigen and from the sounds of it, a Blutbad, to rally around him, a Jägerbär offering friendship to a Reinigen is hardly unusual or illogical surely?”

Before the dumbfounded Roddy could react Frank Rabe smiled at Nick and exited the room, quietly shutting the door, only leaving a crack so he could be called for.

Nick peered at Roddy and had to use all his will-power not to laugh hysterically at Roddy’s expression of sheer astonishment at Frank Rabe’s mini lecture.

Nick admitted to himself he was a little thunderstruck at Frank Rabe’s causal dismissal that if a Grimm could be friends with multiple Wesen then said Wesen could be friends without trouble.

_Are all lawyers like this? Or is it a Jägerbär slash Frank Rabe thing?_

Managing to master himself Nick decided to nudge Roddy back into speech, the slack-jawed image didn’t converge with the normal cocky attitude of the violin playing youth.

“Roddy? Are you okay?”

Roddy stared glassily at Nick. “Huh?”

“Are you alright?”

“Um…sure. What’s with him anyway? How can he say stuff like that? He’s a freaking bear and I’m a rat!”

“And I’m a Grimm and yet we’re friends aren’t we Roddy?”

“Yesss…” said Roddy slowly, brow furrowed.

“Monroe is a Blutbad and he’s friends with us both right?”

“Yeah…”

“So, looks like Frank Rabe just said what was blatantly obvious.” Nick paused, his words echoing in his head. A warm feeling suffused his being. _Maybe I should start listening to what everyone has being saying._

Roddy shrugged. “Yeah…”

A hush fell and Nick silently observed Roddy. The teenager fidgeted, fiddling with the zip on his violin case. Eventually he raised his head to look at Nick.

Nick saw anger, dread and a type of urgency pointed at him.

“It’s not fair,” said Roddy in a whisper. Nick didn’t have to ask what wasn’t fair. Pain welled in Nick for he couldn’t comfort Roddy – all his visitors so far, plus Monroe could just barely comfort him, let alone Nick attempt to do the same.

Roddy’s shoes squeaked as he kicked the floor. His hands clenched and unclenched around his case.

Frustration glazed his eyes, turning them foggy. His features were harsh. “You helped me. When you looked at me you saw me, not a dangerous teenager or trash, but a somebody.”

Roddy turned to stare at the drips, his mouth trembling. Anger burned in voice. “A Grimm actually cared, no-one else but my dad has ever cared for me. Not Sarah, she didn’t love me enough to care about what those jerks said or did. Yet you did, you,” Roddy wiped a sleeve over his eyes and Nick politely ignored the gesture, knowing Roddy was feeling embarrassed enough already.

“You…saw something. I didn’t realise until you sent your friend, a fucking Blutbad-” Nick pretended not to hear the swear. “-to give me advice. Afterwards you didn’t arrest or kill me, just set me on my feet and tried to set me on the right path.

“Hell…you have Monroe running around giving me lessons and…and…” Roddy abruptly stood, jerky in his movements as he began to pace. “And a sense I could do it…a home…”

The last was mumbled so quietly that Nick almost missed it. He closed his eyes. He wondered how the human body and mind could endure so much suffering – physical and emotional.

The pacing stopped by his bed and Nick opened his eyes to see Roddy standing shaking by his bed.

“A Grimm…” he choked. “A stupid, dumb Grimm saw me and helped… _It’s not fucking fair._ ”

Nick stretched out a hand. Damn his pain, Roddy needed him and this was all he could offer.

Roddy fiercely reached out, yet with surprising gentleness gripped his arm. He only gave a brief squeeze before he fumbled for his case, unzipping it to pull out his violin.

The wood was a beautiful varnished brown. The cords well cared for.

Roddy was breathing heavily. “Wrote this for you,” he muttered, glancing swiftly at Nick ere looking at his bow.

Taking a deep breath Roddy touched the bow to the strings and played.

Nick lay there, trapped in wonder as the music rolled over him, capturing his soul and lifting him to the heights of Heaven.

Each note was perfect; the emotion behind staggering in is beauty. As the music quickened and slowed in turns Nick was transported elsewhere, the hospital room vanishing like mist until all that existed was Roddy frantically playing his instrument and Nick, his audience.

Everything that Roddy wanted to say yet couldn’t was in this marvellous piece that seared the soul.

_You win Monroe. Music really is a gateway to the soul._

Nick shivered, not daring to tear his gaze from Roddy. As the tones reached a crescendo Nick could have sworn his very soul was laid bare, aflame with what Roddy was telling him each time his bow drew out a chorus of notes.

In one timeless moment Roddy hit the pinnacle of his emotions and just as swiftly slowed the playing. Now it was if each second equalled a change in pace, slowing the heart and mind, until Nick’s soul was lulled into a sense of tranquillity and exhaustion crept up.

Gradually the hospital environs re-emerged and through half-lidded eyes Nick watched Roddy come to a serene stop in contrast to the thunder of his prior emotions.

Sighing Nick murmured, “Thank you Roddy. That was … everything.”

Roddy nodded. His body was shaking as if weak from the temper of his feelings. “You’re welcome.”

Nick smiled tiredly. He so badly wished to sleep and with Roddy’s music he suspected it would a peaceful, refreshing slumber. Using what energy that remained Nick called softly, “Mr Rabe.”

By the speed the door swung open Nick knew that Frank Rabe had lingered directly outside. The expression of wonder he sent Roddy’s way informed Nick of what the Jägerbär thought of Roddy and Roddy’s performance: brilliance.

“Yes Detective?”

“Can you take Roddy?” _And show him not all rich guys are idiots?_

“Of course Detective.”

The highly interested yet kind countenance Frank Rabe wore when he addressed Roddy encouraged the hope that Nick had been harbouring since Frank Rabe and Roddy had met. “Come on Roddy, no arguments. We can’t have a Grimm show us up now can we?”

Clearly too overcome to protest Roddy nodded, shot Nick a tremulous smile and packed up his violin with trembling hands.

As Frank Rabe ushered Roddy out he said in re-assurance, “See you shortly Detective.”

“Bye,” was all Nick could muster.

However, as sleep claimed him Nick was happy. He prayed that in Roddy, Frank Rabe would find a piece of the missing family he now experienced and Roddy in Frank Rabe would have a bit of faith in his fellow man – Wesen – restored.

 

~ * ~

 

When Nick next opened his eyes his room was in semi-darkness. The lights were dimmed and through his window no light filtered into the room. The noises of a busy hospital seemed muffled.

Momentarily baffled, yet strangely detached,  Nick drowsily turned his head.

A figure sat by his bed fiddling with something in his hands.

“Monroe!” Nick yelped, or tried to. His voice came out strained.

The figure raised his head and smiled. Even in the poorly lit surroundings Nick could see the tell-tale flash of red.

“Nick,” replied Monroe with a happy rumble. “How are you? Did you sleep okay?”

Nick grinned as he fully gathered his wits. “Yeah, slept fine. Where have you been? Have you been here long?”

Monroe shook his head. “I arrived about an hour ago. Sorry I couldn’t get here earlier. It was harder than I thought re-arranging all my commitments. Though, I have to say, most of my customers were cool with it.”

“And the others?”

“They’ll be knocking about trying to find another clock-maker. Good luck to them.”

Nick wanted to cry he was so happy that Monroe was here. He couldn’t believe how tearful he had become over the last few days. _Though considering the circumstances maybe that’s not surprising._

He felt strangely uplifted and energised by his visits from Holly, Frank Rabe and Roddy and was still experiencing the benefits of Roddy’s musical performance. Yet the experience was profound enough that Nick was still grappling with the intense emotions provoked by it and could barely form words to grant shape to these new sensations.

 _Sorry Monroe, I’ll share with you when I can actually verbalise what happened – I can barely believe it **did** happen at the moment.   _Nick swore this silently, his heart tightening painfully in his chest as he drank in Monroe’s presence. Nick knew that from these visits a sense of new hope had flowed into his previously dark world, he no longer felt like such a frightened child. He so badly wished to share with his friend Monroe, yet he also wanted to relish the last few hours privately for so much had occurred that he just needed time to himself to absorb it all – something that Monroe himself had been gently contending, a fact that didn’t escape the besieged Grimm.

Nick just prayed he wasn’t being selfish by cradling these encounters to his self.

Reaching out Nick was soothed when Monroe held his hand a stupid happy grin tugging his lips up.

“Hey, wipe that contrite expression off your face Monroe. I know you got here as soon as you could. This means that you can stay as long as possible right?”

“Yes. I’ve got it all worked out: I’ll stay until eleven when Dr Francis – who I met in the corridor – said they would have to throw me out. I’ll return home then, work for a little on one commission I couldn’t weasel my way out of, sleep, wake up at four, do Pilates and prepare food for the day for both you and me.

“Next I’ll check for any Wesen related activity something I know your Grimm brain will be fretting about, make notes, call in favours if I have to and then hop into the car. Hey pronto, I’ll reach here by seven. Then, unless you wish me to pick something up I’ll remain until eleven and the process begins again.”

Nick knew his mouth was hanging to his chin but what the fuck? “Grimm cases? Favours? Monroe you can’t! It’s dangerous.”

Monroe snorted, waving a hand. “What? It’s suddenly perilous _now_ to chase after savage monsters that want to devour us when before it was simply as dangerous as a cup of tea? Man, I seriously need to work on your definition of ‘danger’…no wait, make that buying you a new dictionary.”

Nick huffed. “But Monroe…”

“Yes? I’m only saving us trouble. I know you’ll be worried over not patrolling Portland like some Grimm bogey-man.” Nick almost choked. “So I’m cutting to the chase and anyway, it’s my turn to prod a bunch of people, who mind their own business, into lending a helping hand.”

_Low blow Monroe._

“Because you loved minding your own business instead of actually diving right in and helping me really enthusiastically.”

“I think that’s because I like you Nick.”

The aching hope that reared its head then was like an acute pain. Nick licked his lips. “Like me huh?”

Monroe looked nervous. “Well, yes, you are my friend.”

Nick persevered. “A Grimm?”

“I presume you mean I like you even though you are a Grimm.”

Nick nodded.

“Nope.”

Something died within Nick.

“Crazy as it sounds – and my family would probably throw me into an asylum, you know, if I survived the whole being attacked by them – I like you because you are a cop and a Grimm.”

“Really…?” Nick had the surreal sensation that his world had stopped and the Earth wouldn’t continue to spin on its axis until Monroe answered his question.

Monroe swallowed and leaned down so that their faces were brushing. When he spoke his voice was rough, the expression on his face was serious. “I like you because you are Nick Burkhardt and being a cop and a Grimm just happen to be two parts of your identity.”

Monroe inhaled and was on the verge of saying something else when they were interrupted.

“I’m sorry Detective Burkhardt, but it is time for your first dose of medication.”

“Shit,” breathed Monroe so quietly Nick only just caught the profanity. Nick was enraptured as he watched Monroe’s eyes turn deep burgundy before reverting to their normal beautiful brown and his features shifted from human to wolfish then back. _A teenage girl now? Damn._

Then abruptly Monroe straightened and addressed the Nurse. “Good evening Eva. Can I help?”

Eva moved nearer where Nick could see her. She was short woman with, what Nick assumed in the dim lightening, dark hair.

She carried in her hands a tray with a few containers.

“If Detective Burkhardt doesn’t mind then yes Monroe.”

Nick was afraid. This was the first time he would take his medication – the first time he had to face his cancer in this format because those pills were a living embodiment, _proof_ of his illness.

Monroe must have understood his qualms, because the hold on his hand became vice-like and Monroe’s voice was all at once his normal chatter and peculiarly reminiscent of a father caring for his sick son.

“Hey man, I’m here okay? We’re going to do this together.”

Nick looked at Monroe and nodded. Monroe just allowed his love and peace radiate from him, his face was comforting in its familiarity: scratchy beard, wayward hair bright eyes again with a tinge of red, the slight suggestion of fur.

Eva made a noise putting down her tray, the clink of metal causing Nick’s muscles to tense. The soft circular action of Monroe’s thumb on his wrist – directly over the pulse point – allowed Nick to relax a touch.

The nurse lifted a container Nick realised was for him and smiled cheerfully at him.

_Okay, you can do this. If Eva can still smile after probably hours working her ass off with most likely crabby patients then I can just take it like a man; like a Grimm and make her life easier too._

Nick squeezed as strongly as he was able, Monroe responded with his own squeeze.

“Eva?”

Monroe’s question surprised Nick and confused he titled his head at his Blutbad companion.

“Can I administer the dose? Gotta say, Nick can be shy like a horse. Luckily he has his own personal keeper to settle him.”

Monroe winked at them both. Nick wanted once more to sob with laughter because damn if Monroe wasn’t making it hard to be scared.

_Best fucking Blutbad in the world. How did I get so lucky?_

Tears threatened and Nick feebly wiped at them. Through watery vision he watched Eva hand the container to Monroe who under her guidance dropped the pills into his hand (letting go of Nick’s hand, leaving a cold that raked his bones) and picked up a glass.

“Okay, big bad cop, just put these on your tongue – one at a time and swallow with some water. I’m here.”

Nick stared at the pills seeing his life. Trembling he opened his mouth and pleadingly gazed at Monroe.

Wetness appeared on his friend’s cheeks and Monroe moved closer. With a care that seemed in contradiction with his Blutbad nature yet was _Monroe_ , his friend placed the first pill on his tongue.

So softly that Nick wondered if the glass were real, Monroe then pressed the cup to his lips, and whispered, “Just a sip dude. Grimms can’t be sick on Blutbaden. Not the natural order.”

Nick didn’t say anything, simply sipping at the water that poured into his mouth. It was like a gentle tide taking the pill home. Once he had swallowed Nick whispered back, “I think we broke the natural order a long time ago.”

Monroe grinned savagely, drops glistening in the faint glow of Nick’s bed light. “About time Nick. Someone had to re-write that crap. Who better than a renegade Grimm and a vegetarian Blutbad.”

Nick wondered what Eva thought of their conversation, but she probably hadn’t heard their words which were quiet as a summer breeze.

Monroe raised the next pill to his lips and Nick opened without a single iota of hesitation. Monroe’s fingers were salty, the underside of his fingers pressing momentarily on his tongue. Withdrawing Nick lamented the loss of Monroe’s fingers before the cup reappeared and water flowed into his mouth.

“More?”

“Yes please.”

Monroe held again the glass to Nick’s mouth and titled the glass enough that only small sips needed to be taken.

Nick held his lips tightly on the glass when he had enough and Monroe pulled it away.

“That’s all for now.”

The sweet voice of Eva was a shock to Nick and he glanced at her. No judgement showed in her expression she only smiled.

“Goodnight Detective. Goodnight Monroe. Call if you require anything.”

“Goodnight,” they both chorused.

Eva exited the room with her tray and Nick returned to watching Monroe. He had no desire for this new closeness to evaporate.

Monroe obviously had the same wish for he stood too quickly to open Nick’s bedside cabinet and retrieve a flask.

“Bought you semolina,” he mumbled, looking a bit embarrassed. “It’s very good for the stomach. They eat it for breakfast in Poland for example. Trust me, it’s great with honey or just the right amount of milk or even melted butter. Hey don’t wince like that. When I first had it I was converted.”

Nick smiled. It was just like Monroe to fall so enthusiastically in love with a dish and then proceed to try and persuade Nick of the health benefits.

“Is mine with honey?”

Monroe rolled his eyes. “Dude, as if I would dare to prod your damaged taste-buds with a new food without drenching it in an overbearing sauce of some description.”

“But honey’s natural right? So I’m not being a food heathen.”

“Smart-ass Grimm.”

“Smart-ass Blutbad.”

Chuckling, Monroe opened the flask and poured the thick contents into a bowl Nick could have sworn hadn’t been there a second ago. Another bit of proof in Nick’s theory that Monroe possessed magic.

Stirring the white gloop Monroe somehow materialised a jar of honey and with extreme care tempered with the natural flair Monroe showed with cooking, his friend mixed in a nice amount of the sweet golden essence.

Apparently satisfied that everything had been stirred appropriately Monroe paused and glanced at Nick then almost nervously at the bed. Nick grinned. “Get on the bed now before I call Hank to arrest you Blutbad.”

“Yeah…as if he could.”

Sitting, Monroe cradled the bowl in one hand and the metal spoon in the other. With the edge he scraped a little of the white-gold on the outside. Nick opened his mouth ready to allow Monroe to deliver, but watched in surprise as instead Monroe blew on the mix until he was content it wasn’t too hot.

Only at that point did his friend put the spoon in his mouth. Maintaining eye contact Nick shut his mouth and felt the slide as Monroe eased the spoon out leaving a wonderful explosion in his mouth.

The semolina was glorious: not too hot, nor too sweet, not too thick either, rather it was a perfect balance. The sweetness tantalised Nick’s taste-buds, encouraging him to eat. The consistency of the semolina was enough that once it hit his stomach Nick felt the weight but not in a unpleasant ‘I’m going to be sick’ manner.

Astonished Nick snapped his eyes open, only then knowing he had closed them.

“Wow.”

Monroe just smiled.

“More,” rasped Nick, eager to eat.

Monroe spooned more up and Nick was drawn into their strange dance. He did not mind Monroe treating him so tenderly. Indeed, with Monroe he enjoyed the intimacy and trust with which Monroe fed him his medicine, administered his water, portioned out his semolina and amidst all this touched, looked and encompassed Nick with his affection for this Grimm, this cop, _his friend_.

Nick could only respond by sinking into this ritual and proffering his own actions, his own affection to Monroe. Anyone else he would shrink away from displaying perceived weakness, but Monroe was different – and didn’t that say everything?

As Monroe delivered the next delicious bite Nick resolved to act. _Yeah…tomorrow…I’m going to take a leap_ _of_ _faith._

~ * ~

 

Unfortunately for Nick things didn’t go to plan.

That night was the worst since he had entered hospital. Though in retrospect it had only been three days, so much had happened that to Nick it was if he had been here for several weeks.

Monroe had left the hospital – departed from Nick’s bedside with great reluctance and visible distress – at the agreed eleven o’clock and only a mere hour after that Nick surged up in bed gasping for breath.

He was sure his head was about to split asunder.

His headaches had returned.

Clutching feebly at his head Nick struggled to breathe. The terrible agony rolling through his brain was brutal. Within a minute the pain had travelled down his neck straight to his belly.

“Fuck,” Nick spat out past a globule of spit. The exclamation didn’t lessen his pain – it never had. Racked by the agony that seemed to claw him open from the inside out Nick tried desperately to think of something else, to focus on Monroe’s tenderness…the faithful face of Holly…the generous words of Frank, the beautiful music of Roddy…

Yet all thought was impossible for the black tide that surged through his body consumed all before its path until Nick became a seemingly never-ending sea of twisted torment.

He was incapable of even summoning a nurse. Rendered unable even to cry like a defenceless babe.

All he could do was reel and as pain became an integral part of him Nick vomited.

It was the sound of his retching that brought his salvation. In a blur that Nick couldn’t discern hands touched him. At this point Nick found his voice and screamed because those helping hands were an input too much. It was sensory overload.

Night closed in around him and only red flashed through the bleak darkness.

“Detective?”

“Nick?”

Gradually, Nick became conscious of voices floating through the blackness – one of them standing out above the others.

Slowly his vision began to clear and night fell away, chased into retreat by the soothing voice that called his name gently but insistently. A room coalesced around him. Very dim yellow light created a glow that managed not to hurt his aching eyes too much.

A face appeared and Nick relaxed a shred. “Toddy…?”

Toddy smiled. “Yes Nick. How are you? You suffered a seizure.”

Nick shakily drew oxygen into his starved lungs. “Bet…be…better.”

Toddy nodded and with the utmost care placed a hand on his sweaty forehead.

“I…had…a headache…” Nick grimaced. _Damn…I thought the headaches would leave once I started taking my medication. How stupid._

“Yes,” confirmed Toddy, her sweet tones washing over his pained wrung body and mind. “It is to be expected.”

She must have caught the flash of depreciation because Nick found himself suddenly gaining another person telling him off.

“Don’t blame yourself for thinking they might have disappeared. That’s normal too. Each day is a step at a time – an hour at a time.”

Her hand dropped to his arm, checking the cannula. Nick dared not shut his eyes afraid of what may happen. Eventually Toddy finished her checks and asked him whether he wanted anything.

“Water.”

After he had drunk enough Nick succeeded in reclining against his bed. His muscles were sore and his head was a dull throbbing staccato. “You should be alright Nick. We will monitor you regularly though the night to ensure nothing untoward occurs.”

Nick was too tired and too traumatised to do more than whisper “okay”.

But as it transpired it wasn’t okay. Nick suffered two more attacks though Nick suspected the third had been a panic attack induced by suffering two intense periods of mind-numbing torment.

By the time Monroe re-appeared Nick was on the verge of giving up. He was crushed, both in body and spirit. Monroe’s exclamation and worried questions were what revived him somewhat.

Gently curling sweaty fingers around Monroe’s Nick simply stared exhaustedly at his friend as Toddy explained the night’s events. Upon Monroe’s grim assertion that next time they were to call no matter the hour Nick felt a piece of himself revert to normal.

When Monroe finally sat and cooled down a little Nick tugged on his fingers, pathetically attempting a smile. Sad brown eyes gazed down at him and Nick saw the wet sheen.

The faint smile that Monroe achieved was a mere ghost of his normal amused countenance and he was bereft of his usual joviality as he whispered voice uneven. “Nick, dude, can’t walk away without you causing a scene.”

Gentle fingers, calloused from years of dedication to practising the cello and years of perfecting the art of clock-repair and clock-making, brushed his unruly locks off his sweaty forehead.

“Gonna have to find some equivalent of the Grimm journals for us Wesen. There must be a manual on how to handle maverick Grimms.”

“No,” rasped Nick, wincing at the rawness of his throat and the shuddering frailty of his lungs meekly drawing in air. “You have to write one.”

Monroe snorted. The shine was now a sparkling shimmer threatening to spill. “Don’t have an appropriate book to record our adventures.”

“I do…”

Nick watched in almost detached amazement as tears trekked down Monroe’s cheeks, catching in his beard.

“Huh…you really like screwing with the status quo Nick.”

“So do you,” breathed Nick, anxious to project his very real opinions on the matter.

Monroe nodded jerkily, “Yeah.”

More tears curved over the planes of Monroe’s face and Nick saw how his friend fought to prevent himself from wolfing out. It resulted in a flickering image of wolf Monroe and human Monroe overlapping like a reel of film snagged in a loop.

A harsh gasp rolled through the room and Monroe bowed his head. The soft noises of someone frantically trying to conceal his sobs assaulted Nick and he whimpered.

At this Monroe raised his head and Nick’s world fell away at the expression on Monroe’s face.

No-one had ever looked at him either with so much pain nor with so much pent-up terror.

_“Nick.”_

One word, yet that one word held all the fear that Monroe harboured for him, for Monroe himself; one word that revealed the vast yearning depth of Monroe’s despair and uselessness at the situation.

Nick was surprised at the tears that now blurred his vision. He had thought himself beyond capability to cry after last night.

 _“Monroe.”_ Was it enough? It had to be for now.

_Please let it be enough for now._

~ * ~

 

That night Nick did not fall asleep, rather he drowsed, fear clogging his chest and his mind. He dreaded the very real likelihood of another attack. Every time he felt himself beginning to drop off he forced himself to awaken.

_Think of Roddy’s music, of Holly…of anything, but this._

With this whisper circling his head Nick battled his terror and emotions. At times he succeeded in recalling Holly’s sweet touch, the soul cleansing play of Roddy’s violin, but most of all he remembered Monroe.

Two excruciating hours later found Nick losing the fight to stay conscious. It was then, on the cusp of drowsiness and true sleep where his fears held sway that Nick’s senses screamed.

Nick sat up a little, wincing at the strength it cost him.

Breathing harshly Nick strained his ears. 

What had startled him? It had been a noise, but what noise?

 _There_. A silken sound near the window. Nick strained to hear. He wished he had his gun.

_Hell, I’d take my cell._

Out of the gloom yellow eyes gleamed, the pupils were mere slits.

Only Nick’s training as a cop prevented him from outright yelling in shock – and good thing too. Whatever was in his room was clearly not human and therefore Grimm related.

_Shit. Suppose it was about time for someone to come hunting the resident Grimm who is trapped in hospital. Monroe I could really use your timing about now._

“Don’t be afraid Detective,” issued a very feminine voice. The tone was beautifully rich, each word rolling off her tongue in a purring fashion.

_Purring?_

“Mitsy?”

“You remember me, how delightful.” The eyes moved closer, amusement causing them to reflect even more the small light of his bedside table.

“Yes…I haven’t met many ….”

By now ‘Mitsy’ was by his bed and Nick watched as she ran a curious finger across his table.

“I’m certain you have met more than you realised.”

“Why are you here?”

Mitsy smiled. “Because you are here.”

_Okay, take two._

“I mean, why are you visiting me?”

“Ah…that’s better. A far more precise question, which deserves a precise answer.” Black-white fur rippled over her features. “I’m visiting you Grimm, because you helped me once, in that rather irritating case of Lausenschlange who wouldn’t accept a ‘no’.”

Nick coughed. A glass of water appeared, even as a disgusted voice said, “Just water? Hospitals are savage places. You should have the very best Grimm. The finest milk and healthy pure food free of chemicals.”

Nick smiled past his tears, summoned by his coughing. “I don’t think hospitals can afford all that.”

Mitsy sniffed. “Oh, I suppose it is only for a short while. I suspect the Blutbad will treat you well.”

Nick stilled. “How…?”

“It reeks of Blutbad in here, most particularly male Blutbad. And really Detective, surely in _both_ your professions you must have postulated by now that most of the Wesen world knows about your peculiar partnership.”

“He’s my friend.”

Mitsy grinned. Her face was partially transformed by now. Her whiskers twitched. “I am not threatening him Grimm, I am not stupid.”

Nick was uneasy and changed the subject. “So you’re here to repay a debt of gratitude?”

Mitsy laughed softy, somehow a very cat-like sound. “Perhaps, or maybe I’m here as you’ve shown yourself to be a very different type of Grimm. A Grimm who aids Wesen – as long as we play by the rules.”

“Do….you play by the rules?”

“Meow, sometimes…when it suits us.”

Nick snorted.

“Whatever you say we – I – are realists as well. You have proved yourself a trustworthy Grimm who will only kill when necessary. Who knows what Grimm might take your place if you were to die? No, I do not wish to see that happen, so I come to you to be of what assistance I can.”

Nick was gobsmacked. _I’ve got to tell Monroe this, because I think I may have lost my mind and be imagining this._

Mitsy held out hands that as Nick watched were transforming into paws. “My kin already guard the hospital outside. You and your Blutbad need not fret. Nothing may pass that wishes you harm.”

“Thank you,” was all Nick could say as his mind reeled. To have made such a difference in so many lives was humbling. A consideration emerged. “The danger..?”

Mitsy meowed. “Have you witnessed what felines are capable of when stirred to anger?”

Nick grimaced. “Yes.”

“Then do not fear for us, rather relax and let us help you.”

What occurred next was so fast that Nick wondered if he had imagined it. Mitsy jumped and landed in full cat form on his bed.

Nick gazed in astonishment as the small black and white feline turned in a circled, carefully keeping her claws sheathed (unusual for a cat), ere curling up on his lower belly. The weight was warm and real and convinced Nick he wasn’t insane.

Yellow eyes glowed up at him and a purring rumble met his incredulous stare.

“Has your blutbad never changed fully for you? Honestly, males.”

Mitsy raised a paw for a quick lick. “Sleep now Grimm. I shall keep you company and my purrs will caress your sleep so that your non-waking hours are not troubled by agony or nightmares.”

Nick exhaled slowly and eased his head against the pillow.

“But won’t the nurses discover you?”

An indignant hiss answered him:

“What am I? A dog? I’m a cat!

“I prance and prowl,

I sneak and squeeze through the slimmest holes,

I’m intelligent and inquisitive,

I embroil myself in the most extraordinary situations and with the ease of a feline untangle myself from them,

What dog can do that?

Only a cat can!

I’m faithful and loving,

As long as the human is worth it,

One minute I’m there the next I’m not,

I purr and meow,

I snarl and spit,

But most of all I am complex,

I am there to get you in or out of a fix,

So, with all this do you think I’ll be _caught_?”

Nick was completely taken aback by Mitsy’s little tirade and if he was honest, amused as well.

“Uh…no. I’ll just sleep then.”

Mitsy purred. “I am pleased my small words have rubbed some of your shadows away Detective Grimm. Now rest.”

Her purring increased until it seemed to vibrate all around him, the sound sinking through the covers to his skin and deeper, reaching muscle and bone, traveling in his blood and rubbing against his soul. The feline’s warmth also sank deep and cautiously, hoping it was allowed, Nick rested his fingers on her fur.

A shifting on his stomach and the fur underneath his fingers engulfed him and Nick smiled as he fell to dreamless sleep.

_Permission granted._

~ * ~

 

The next day it was as if last night had been a dream, an elaborate fantasy created by his desperate mind to escape the crushing reality of his illness.

Indeed, Nick almost convinced himself of this line of reasoning if it hadn’t been for two things: the minute traces of fur covering his bed covers and hands and secondly the fact that he had awoken feeling so much stronger.

He had not been interrupted by mind rending head-aches, instead his sleep had been undisturbed.

Nick’s body was free of aches and weariness though Nick understood that this freedom was temporary. Nevertheless it was proof of Mitsy’s visit and Nick was determined to take advantage of his sudden energy and clarity of thought.

_Time to take that leap of faith._

Painstakingly pulling himself up the bed Nick waited for Monroe to appear, calculating what he needed to do. His patience was rewarded with Monroe turning up at seven on the dot.

_Unsurprising for a clock-maker._

“Morning Monroe. Are all clock-maker’s this punctual or just you?”

Nick could tell how his good humour and apparent bout of good health shocked Monroe as his friend just stopped in the middle of the floor.

After a heartbeat consisting of Monroe’s expression warring between worried, surprised and hopeful Monroe recovered enough to shoot back, “No, just my employing the use of a watch and numerous clocks to inform me when my ass is required somewhere. You know those items that hang on my walls and mantelpiece? The ones that go ‘tick’-tock’ as you perversely put it. Clocks, useful inventions your Grimmness should use.”

Nick grinned. This was starting off great. “Nah…what’s the point? I wouldn’t be able to call on you at all hours then would I?”

Monroe approached Nick, arms laden down with everything he – they – appeared to require for the day. Gently unburdening his bags by Nick’s bed Monroe glanced at Nick, intense eyes searching him for a clue as to his energy. “You’re fortunate I’m a friendly Blutbad Nick.”

“I thought it was because you liked me.”

“I do.” Monroe’s reply was short but aggressive. It dared Nick to try and deny this simple fact.

Nick had no desire to, he just gazed at Monroe.

Monroe frowned before removing his jacket, draping it over the back of the chair. He sat heavily, as if too exhausted to fake boundless energy.

“Care to share why you’re so bouncy this morning Nick? Not uh…that I’m unhappy with you…um…you know, being all upbeat and positive.”

Nick loved how Monroe stumbled over himself trying to correct his faux pas. He genuinely relished this socially awkward side of his friend, it was one the many characteristics that made Monroe, well Monroe.

Nick glanced towards the door. “Shut it will you? I don’t want anyone to overhear.”

Monroe raised an eyebrow. “Mysterious huh? Okay Nick. I bite, or not as the case may be.” Monroe tilted his head and sniffed. “It’ll have to wait a second though. The nurses are coming.”

The anxiety that welled in Nick at the mention of the nurses didn’t escape Monroe’s notice. “Hey, I’m here okay? Not leaving now until eleven at night.”

Nick nodded. “And because I’d hunt you down or get someone to do so if you left.”

Monroe laughed, sensing his fear under the joke. “Yup, no way am I allowing you to practise your family obsession of decapitation on me.”

Nick could now hear the nurses and quietly turned his hand over. The rough slide of Monroe’s hand into his was a welcome comfort.

Nick met Monroe’s eyes and saw the same wet glimmer in the brown depths. “So, story-time after the nurses have been and gone?” quipped Monroe.

“Yes, but this story-time features true stories.”

“Practising for novel-writing Nick? You’ve got me hooked anyway.”

“Good.”

Nick could see he had wetted Monroe’s appetite to know more and used that to hang on to as the nurses entered the room. Monroe squeezed his hand and greeted the women. With a sigh Nick endured the morning ritual.

At long last the room fell silent and Nick was allowed (well cajoled) to have breakfast, courtesy of Monroe. Once done Monroe hastily cleared everything away.

Nick waited for Monroe to be finished before patting his bed. He hope Monroe would join him. By the expression on Monroe’s face it was never in doubt.

Basking in the solid warm comfort of his friend Nick reclined, eyes completely focused on the Blutbad leaning over him.

“I had some surprise visits over the last two days.”

Monroe frowned and sniffed again. “I thought I smelled something…but the hospital disinfectants confused my nose.” Monroe looked down at their joined fingers, Nick had immediately reinitiated contact upon Monroe sitting beside him on the bed.

“And I was distracted…” Monroe glanced up at Nick and Nick’s heart ached at the guilt written in Monroe’s face.

“Hey…I was distracted too okay Monroe? I’m glad you were equally upset. Not that I want you to be unhappy.”

“But it’s good to know there’s someone going crazy over you and not just yourself.”

Nick grinned. Monroe always knew what to say. “Didn’t know you were so eloquent in such matters Monroe.”

“Hey, if we’re re-writing the whole rules on Grimm-Blutbad relations might as well go all the way.”

Nick nodded. “As I was saying I had some surprise visits and my visitors were something else…”

As Nick retold his encounters of the last couple days it was like he was reliving each event. Nick could conjure up every emotion, thought and sensation he had experienced while Holly, Frank Rabe, Roddy and Mitsy had poured forth their reasons for seeing him and their genuine offerings of support.

With anyone else Nick would have been embarrassed at the way he sobbed and asked repeatedly how and why these people, these Wesen, could be so loving, so loyal and proffer him their devotion…even their services.

Monroe stopped him with a single touch on his wrist with his free hand. Nick shuddered to a halt and stared in bewilderment at his friend.

Tears were glistening in Monroe’s’ eyes and the Blutbad seemed to want to laugh, but was refraining from doing so.

“Nick…hey man…don’t you ever grow tired of me having to tell you everything?” The teasing vein in Monroe’s words caused Nick to smile instead of bristle with anger.

“That would rob me of your annoyed expression and sighs Monroe.”

Monroe rolled his eyes, blinking at the wetness that seeped from the corners. “Irritating Grimm.”

“Prickly Blutbad,” Nick grinned at the gentle poke he received.

Then Monroe sobered and moved his free hand to clasp Nick’s shoulder. “Nick. What I’m trying to say, admittedly in a long-winded fashion, is that Holly, all of my fellow Wesen have told you _why_ they’re doing this. 

“You’re unique among Grimms Nick. Every legend I have ever heard has described Grimms as terrifying hunters whose mission in life is to exterminate any creature that crosses their path. Hell, your Aunt exemplified this myth: she was – and will remain – a Grimm who garnered a reputation built on almost unmatchable skills and determination.”

Monroe leaned closer, his hand on Nick’s shoulder shifting so that one finger stroked the side of Nick’s neck. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing Nick. She did what she had to do to survive, to ensure bad Wesen didn’t get away with killing innocents. But you are different. You were already different because of being a cop. I guess your Aunt Marie wanted to keep silent on your heritage part so you would learn to be a cop first then a Grimm.”

Nick hadn’t thought of it like that but now he did. He wondered what else Aunt Marie had purposefully kept secret to give him a chance to see life differently, to give others a chance.

Monroe smiled sadly. “Your visitors see this Nick. You’re the first Grimm interested in seeing Wesen, _us_ , for who we are – not simply what your books make us to be. When you’re given an opportunity to state your case and to be treated like a _human_ – that is, with the same rights to protection and fair trial _by a Grimm_ , it isn’t exactly surprising that some will want to pay that respect back with the same respect with a major dosage gratitude mixed in.”

Nick swallowed. It was harrowing to hear Monroe state so candidly how he ‘deviated’ from his ancestors and relatives and that this very difference was the reason the Wesen he was supposed to be hunting actually cared for his well-being.

He had to know for certain what Monroe’s feelings were on him though. Breaking their intertwined fingers Nick moved to grip as tightly as possible Monroe’s hand. Since Monroe was so close, Nick managed to hook his other hand over the ‘v’ in Monroe’s vest.

“As ever Monroe, you know everything about this fairy-tale world we live in.” Forcing himself to catch Monroe’s eyes and maintain contact, Nick added softly, “What about you? How do you feel about this Grimm?”

Nick could feel his heart thunder in his chest and apologised silently to Monroe at the noise – he hoped it didn’t actually hurt Monroe’s sensitive ears. Sweat broke out all over his body as he awaited Monroe’s verdict.

Monroe gulped. A red glow seemed to spark in the brown depths. “Me? Man, you always ask the hardest questions Nick.” Breathing unevenly Monroe licked his lips. Nick wanted to yell at Monroe to hurry because damnit, he couldn’t take much more of this anticipation. However, he was quiet. He had waited too long to ruin the best and possibly the only chance of being together with Monroe.

Monroe leaned down further, trapping Nick’s hand that was holding onto his vest between their bodies.

“Me? Well…as I said before, I like you Nick, not because you’re a cop or a Grimm, but because you are both. One day you quite literally burst into my life accusing me of kidnapping a little girl then when I protested my innocence you guilted me into actually helping you. Then due to your complete ignorance of how the all Grimm – Wesen relationship works you kept popping up on my doorstep – similar to a rather persistent strain of the plague – asking questions and demanding help in your unique way of somehow prying out my civic duty side.

“Hell, you even persuaded me to guard your Aunt _because you trusted me_. Me! A Blutbad. A blutbad you just met. And you amazingly meant what you said: you did trust me. Lunacy.

“Yet somehow I allowed you each time a step further into my life, opening up more and more until all of a sudden I realised you were my friend and I didn’t want to be the loner I once was, constantly keeping vigil on my regime.”

Nick smiled past the tears. “You got me to help keep your regime.”

Monroe nodded. “Yeah…my family would die of a heart-attack.” Monroe’s finger that was stroking his neck stopped and Monroe moved his hand so it rested against the side of Nick’s face.

“Then you go and offer me your journals, the books that you and your ancestors recorded facts about me and others. Nick, that a trust no-one has shown me before in my life. Not even Angelina would trust me so far.”

“Friendship Monroe…”

“Yes, but you are the only friend who has offered me something of that magnitude and the only friend I would dare show the same trust or display weakness.”

Nick titled his head. “You let me into your life Monroe. You saved me when I became a Grimm and my first steps. I would probably be dead without you and even though you grumbled I noticed how you shared yourself, your world with me. Others would have screamed police harassment after the first time. You never betrayed my trust either.”

“Hap…”

“A mistake – I’ve made a few.”

Monroe sighed. His hand was hot against Nick’s skin. “What I’m attempting to say Nick is that you turned my world on its axis and quite frankly I don’t care and rather enjoy the way things are. You are the best thing to happen to me in my life. I want that to continue and no matter what happens Nick I will take care of you.”

Monroe pressed closer, his mouth a mere centimetre away, his eyes a weird blend of red-brown, truth shining in them and conviction burning in his voice when said: “I’m not much good at this Nick and I hope you won’t kill me for it-”

“I’ll decapitate you if you stop now,” murmured Nick no longer caring if the beat of his heart was a din to Monroe.

Monroe growled. “I am in love with you, you frustrating Grimm.” It took all of Nick’s willpower not to shut his eyes in blessed relief at Monroe’s confession.

“I love you Nick.”

Staring up into Monroe’s eyes, praying that every emotion he felt showed in his eyes, his face, his voice, Nick whispered, “I love you Monroe, you clock-making Blutbad.”

Monroe surged forward and captured Nick’s mouth. Nick moaned, delighted to at last be kissing Monroe.

All the tension, sweet touches and achingly tender exchanges of vulnerability had been leading to this very moment.

Nick kissed with all the vigour and emotion he had.

Lips slid over each other and Nick lapped at the saltiness of Monroe’s lips. Their noses bumped but Nick didn’t care: it was all sensation, it was all Monroe.

Finally their mouth opened, who opened first Nick didn’t know, but he took advantage, tongue darting in. The prick of fangs sent a hot coil of pleasure right to Nick’s belly and he groaned. Monroe’s answering growl informed him that Monroe was pleased that his Blutbad nature summoned desire and not disgust.

Breaking for air Nick panted, “Want all of you Monroe: wolf and man. You’re both and I love you because you’re both, just like you love both sides of me: cop and Grimm.”

Monroe’s eyes blazed scarlet and he hissed, “Fuck Nick.”

The swear elicited a small chuckle from Nick then he was being kissed again. Biting now at Monroe’s lips Nick freed his grip on Monroe’s hand and slid his hand so he could burrow his fingers into Monroe’s locks.

With his trapped hand he dug in, seeking the firm pressure of Monroe’s chest through the clothes and revelling when he touched unyielding flesh.

Monroe  moved his hand from cradling Nick’s face to slip under his back, hoisting Nick up ever so gently so that they ended flush against each other and so that Nick had more leverage.

Monroe’s tongue in his mouth sought to taste all and Nick dizzyingly wondered if Monroe was taking notes for his own version of the Grimm journals: _How to render a Grimm senseless: Vol 1 – Kissing._

Yearning for Monroe rose like the tide and Nick reluctantly pulled from the kiss to nuzzle at Monroe’s beard and scatter small kisses over the scratchy patch. He nudged Monroe’s chin with his nose and understanding the Blutbad tilted his head so that Nick could access his throat.

Excited Nick rubbed his nose and cheeks back and forth over the tangled growth and warm flesh and brushed his lips as far he could reach.

A snarl reached his ears and apparently having had enough Monroe carefully – always so gentle and mindful of his condition – tugged him up. Nick met the passionate gaze of his – _his!_ – Blutbad.

Pointed ears swept up and away and Monroe’s face was angular. “Nick.” Nick shuddered at the naked emotion.

A hand tipped with claws brushed oh so cautiously over his forehead, brushing away sweaty hair. Monroe kissed his nose and Nick smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself Grimm.”

Laughing softly Nick was overjoyed when Monroe sweetly kissed him. It was slow and deliberate, promising more.

“We have to stop Nick.”

“I know,” Nick wanted so much more but he knew they couldn’t continue. He was too fragile, too weak and already Nick was a little faint from their actions.

He kissed Monroe back. “Later?”

“Stop me Grimm.”

“Only if you leave Blutbad.”

“Never.”

Nick grinned through their kiss.

_“Whoa!”_

Nick recognised that startled exclamation. _Hank._

Monroe growled so quietly that Hank couldn’t hear, “Again? I’m going to install a lock.”

Pulling away from Nick he concentrated on breathing and changed back. Nick was thankful for Monroe’s exercises because his control was astonishing and damn life-saving right about now.

“Ah…Hank,” Monroe turned around, a slight flush in his features, “Nice to meet you again.”

Nick could see Hank’s eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline. “Uh huh. Nice to meet you too Monroe. I see affairs have moved on since we last chatted.”

He glanced pointedly at Nick. Nick refused to feel guilty.

“Yeah, just now in fact Hank,” remarked Nick determined to ensure Hank didn’t gain the upper hand.

Disbelief swamped Hank’s face. “Now?”

Monroe frowned. “Um, yes. What about it?”

“We thought you’d act sooner that’s all. Wu is going to wail he should have intervened and visited sooner.”

Nick grinned at Monroe’s open mouth. “Yeah…they kind of knew I liked you Monroe. Ganged up on me.”

Monroe shook his head. “Thanks for the warning Nick.”

“You’re welcome.”

Monroe just groaned and fumbled with adjusting his clothing so he didn’t look like he had just been mauled.

Hank meanwhile moved to sit on the other side of the bed. “So I’m disturbing things?”

“Uh…no,” replied Monroe, clearly not wishing to get on the bad side of Nick’s partner considering that he had just been kissing a very sick Nicholas Burkhardt.

Nick couldn’t help smiling: at his friend’s (boyfriend’s?) awkwardness and Hank’s reservation.

“Right.” The room descended into unsettled silence. _Hell no. This is not what I need._

“Hey Monroe, could you fetch me that magazine you mentioned you saw in the hospital shop yesterday? It should be open by now.”

There was no magazine, but Monroe would appreciate being given an escape route and Nick would be grateful for a chance to speak with Hank alone.

“Sure thing Nick.” Monroe jumped up then hesitated, uncertainty flickering over his face before his mouth firmed and he swooped down to kiss Nick briefly, before glancing defiantly at Hank and rushing out the room.

Hank coughed. “Suave guy this Monroe fella.”

Nick bristled, even as his cheeks remained flushed from Monroe’s display of affection. “He’s one of the most loyal friends anyone could ask for, not to mention more intelligent than you or I could hope to be.”

Hank laughed, holding up a hand in protest. “Easy there Nick. I don’t care.”

Nick frowned, gazing warily at his partner. Hank looked concerned by Nick’s distrust and leaned forward, voice low but steady. “I honestly don’t care Nick. If he makes you happy this odd bumbling clock-maker then I’m happy for you. But just to inform you…and him…I have a gun, friends in the department and if he hurts you? I can and will make it look an accident. Cliché but satisfyingly true.”

Hank reclined in his chair eyeing Nick. “Everything cool between us?”

 _Yeah…just as soon as I screwed my jaw back on._ “Um…yeah Hank. Nice way of saying you approve I guess.”

Hank snorted. “Approve? Maybe. We’ll see. At the moment he quite obviously loves you and seems besotted by your every word.”

Nick had to gasp for air here. “My every word? Stick around Hank, you two may have more in common than you think.”

Hank shrugged. “As I was saying…besotted with you and has been going crazy while you’re stuck in here. So maybe I’m impressed and believe his feelings to be genuine. However, as for _approving_...perhaps when a few months have passed by and he’s stuck around. Maybe then I’ll approve.”

Neither of them admitted that a few months may or may not happen for Nick. Determined not to sour the mood Nick forced himself to ask, “Any news from the department?”

Hank nodded even as a fog seemed to cloud his eyes as if the question had conjured up bad memories. “Yup. Did I mention that we arrested the woman responsible for all those weird deaths?”

“The one with the singing? Um…no.” _‘Saying that Monroe told me’, probably wouldn’t go over well, let alone that he helped catch her._

“Well we succeeded in carrying out the raid and it was eerily easy.” Hank’s suspicious stare sent a shiver down Nick’s spine.

“How so?” he prompted, heart beating a bit faster.

Hank shifted. “Well…it was as if she was drugged Nick. All her movements were sluggish and she seemed to be really friendly, not really matching the descriptions of her assertive behaviour we had on file. Though the minute we got a good look around her place, shit Nick…there was no doubt she was our killer, sick bitch. Sorry to use the phrase.”

Nick shrugged, wincing slightly. “What she did was horrific.”

“No arguing here.” Hank sighed. “Unfortunately, we won’t be able to get her to trial.”

“What! Why the hell not?”

Hank’s voice turned bleak. “Something happened and this Nick I swear is where it becomes like a damn fairy-tale. There were two guards on watch the night it occurred – a day ago perhaps? Events are a bit blurred. Anyway, one guard went to check while the other stayed at the desk. At some point the guard on the desk realised that her companion had been absent too long and also went to check.”

Hank hunched over eyes glinting peculiarly at Nick. “She discovered the male guard standing frozen outside Mrs Yates cell as if in a trance and listen to this Nick. Mrs Yates was singing and somehow as the female guard watched she appeared to _walk through the bars_.”

Nick swallowed. _Fuck._

“I’ve seen the tape and it’s unbelievable. It must be fake somehow.”

Nick was silent.

Hank rubbed a hand over his eyes as if he could dispel what he had seen that night. “The guard tried calling out but there was no response from the dazed guard. Only Mrs Yates reacted. Shit Nick! Her eyes were frickin’ electric blue. How the hell is that normal? I swear she must have been brewing some serious stuff in that exotic garden of hers.”

Hank breathed harshly. What he had witnessed seemed to have left him sorely shaken. Nick had no idea what to say, what comfort to offer. He just listened instead.

“To cut a long story short the female guard pulled her weapon and fired twice. At least that worked.” Hank laughed bitterly.

“Sounds rough Hank.”

Hank shook his head and straightened from his hunched position. “I’m trying very hard to forget Nick.” Hank stared at Nick a second longer with his haunted eyes before audibly swallowing. “But enough about me, how are you faring?”

Nick sunk back into his pillow, his depression re-emerging. “Better with Monroe.”

Hank sighed and nodded. He too sunk into his chair and stared morosely at the floor.

A hush engulfed the two men and Nick could tell that Hank was guilty for bringing up his own nightmare and then reminding Nick, his friend, of his own much more terrifying nightmare. What to say or do now?

Nick shifted, doing his best to roll towards Hank on the bed. “Tell me Wu’s latest antics,” he whispered, knowing that would banish the grief for a little while.

Hank laughed, the noise unnatural. “As you wish.”

 

~ * ~

 

Hank’s visit was followed by another endless stream of check-ups, pills and discussions until came the day when Doctor Francis announced Nick was strong enough to leave hospital. That in of itself ought to have raised Nick’s spirits, but for the knowledge that this signalled he was also ready to begin his treatment of chemotherapy.

The thought summoned both hope and fear: both emotions bringing anger as Nick knew that his hope was tainted by the realisation that the course may not work. The fear of this was almost all pervading and the resultant bitterness and anger that all this approaching endurance may be for nothing was suffocating at times.

At these points Monroe was quite literally a life-saver. Nick clung to his boyfriend, _lover_ , as the only one who could help stop this tide of bleak despair and grief.

It helped that now Monroe knew he could touch Nick whenever he wished, kiss him when he desired and hold him as a lover might, the Blutbad no longer hesitated so much before reaching out to Nick, his Grimm.

So on the day of his dismissal from hospital Nick was besieged by various conflicting feelings and had to draw himself away from proceedings in an attempt to survive until he reached Monroe’s – no, their – house. Monroe needed to be free to transport them home, he would be unable to fully shoulder Nick’s fears as normal and really Nick had better stop being so damn selfish and cowardly right?

“Stop that Nick.”

Monroe’s cutting voice shattered his dire internal monologue and Nick glanced up to see Monroe glaring at him with a fond exasperation.

“Huh?”

“Stop moping,” clarified Monroe, who was busy pulling Nick’s leather jacket (the last item in the hospital closet) out for him to wear. “Cry, yell or sit quietly or do all three. You don’t have to sit and think you have to be in pain alone to spare me. Believe me, if I can handle a raging Blutbad then don’t you think I can – and want – to share what you’re feeling?”

Monroe cocked his head. “Right?”

Nick wondered why he was constantly amazed by his friend’s actions. “How did I land you again?”

Monroe snorted. “Some Grimm magic no doubt. Probably brewed up a particularly foul concoction while my back was turned.”

Nick smiled grimly. “Nah…just my natural charm. Though in my case I must have fallen for some of your Blutbad pheromones. Been in heat lately?”

Monroe rolled his eyes. “No more werewolf kinky books for you.”

“Hey! I need the ideas.”

“I shudder to think what ideas you’re getting.”

Nick shrugged. “Hopefully you’ll find out.”

The next thing Nick knew was Monroe’s gentle yet firm grip on his shoulders. He met Monroe’s burning red stare. “We’ll have plenty of moments for us to discover what bizarre fantasies you have us performing Nick. Don’t…Don’t doubt that okay? I can’t…”

Monroe shuddered to a halt and breathed harshly for a second. Nick reached up to grasp a strong forearm and in a show of remorse bent his head so he could lean against Monroe’s chest. He could hear the pleased rumble Monroe released at his actions. The sound was soothing, comforting his abraded soul.

They stayed like that for a while as the hospital purred around them until they both felt capable of moving without falling apart – for now.

 

~ * ~

 

The welcome noise of clocks ticking away washed over Nick the minute they entered the house. Nick was being heavily supported by Monroe since they discovered that Nick was indeed well enough to leave hospital, but not strong enough to walk far – and the journey and upheaval involved in moving from his sick bed to Monroe’s no, _their_ ,house Nick reminded himself, was draining.

However, Nick smiled, something slotting into place as he heard one clock in particular announce the hour.

“Perfect,” he breathed. He felt Monroe’s gaze on him and grinned. Opening his eyes he turned to look at Monroe who bore a puzzled expression, which quite clearly stated, ‘ _What?’_

“Your clocks,” Nick gestured towards the living room. “I…I missed them. There was no warmth in the hospital without them.” Nick paused, struggled briefly then bravely battled on. “They’re you and when you weren’t there I didn’t even have your clocks to keep me company.”

Monroe blinked and seemed to be trying not to sob, either from hysteria that Nick had been so distraught in hospital or awe that Nick felt that way about him – possibly both in somewhat equal measures.

Nick swallowed and continued. “Now I’m back and it’s real and…” He shrugged. What else could he say without choking up?

Instead he leaned further into the supporting arm of his clock-maker. Monroe sighed, soft and warm. He gently tugged Nick to the couch and smiled waveringly at Nick. He motioned he needed to go and dashed outside. Nick sighed too and titled his head back to await Monroe.

He heard Monroe return with an assortment of bags, many of them gifts from his visitors, including pots of uneaten jello from Holly; a music tape from Roddy, a pamphlets on his rights from Mr Rabe; a lock of fur from Mitsy, bottles of lube & a manual on safe sex from both Wu & Hank – Nick was going to kill them – and from the Captain an order (on paper what the fuck!) for him to rest, combined with an order that the three of them would discuss Nick & Monroe’s new relationship (shit).

A bag was dropped next to him on the couch and Nick pushed himself up so he could talk to Monroe.

The clock-maker looked vaguely distressed, but mostly due to the fact he had dragged in a pile of truly amazing ‘treasure’ from Nick’s stay in the hospital.

“I swear these cats are strange,” he said suspiciously, prodding the lock of fur. Nick rolled his eyes. “That’s only because they got there first. Don’t worry Monroe, I’ll always love you best and I’m not offended you chose not to give me a lock of _your_ fur.”

Monroe grunted.

Nick grinned. He reached out and Monroe dropped the braid of fur into his hand. Stroking the silken length Nick became absorbed in the simple motion. A silence fell, filled with the background chatter of clocks as he petted the black-white fur.

Monroe’s calloused hand, tipped with claws covered Nick’s fingers.

Nick raised his eyes and saw serious brown eyes shining back at him. “You know I’m joking right Nick? I’m just being my normal blundering self.”

Nick nodded. “Yeah.”

Monroe smiled sort of cautiously, still looking as if he might cry. Nick didn’t know what to do so just maintained eye contact while both his and Monroe’s hands started twining the braid between their fingers.

“What do you feel up to doing?”

“Anything I want?”

“Within reason. Can’t have you going Grimm on my ass.”

Nick chuckled. “Nope, just a shower.”

Monroe paused, reluctance clear on his features.

“Please Monroe, I stink and it really will make me feel better.”

Monroe considered and then curtly nodded. “No kidding. Okay but only if I’m there with you.”

Nick smiled.

“No funny stuff Nick.”

“Prudish Blutbad.”

“Sex maniac.

Monroe stood and extended a hand. Nick took it and grimaced as he was levered to his feet. He caught the flash of worry ere Monroe buried it. Yet he didn’t say anything for which Nick was incredibly grateful.

They started for the stairs painful step by agonising step, until Monroe, comprehending how strenuous and damaging this was for Nick, picked him up, ignoring his weak demurrals and carried him up the staircase and to the bathroom. Once inside Monroe carefully sat Nick down on the closed toilet. He quickly hit the switch as the bathroom only had one window, which really didn’t provide enough light this late in the afternoon.

Nick blinked, eyes adjusting to the new brightness. “I’ll just turn on the shower,” murmured Monroe awkwardly. Monroe leaned into the cubicle and turned on the spray so the stream could adjust.

Nick nodded, aware of the faint pressure stirring at the back of his skull. Another headache was promising to visit. Nick paid it no heed, he had every intention of having his much needed shower and he would be damned if he let his phantom headache prevent him.

Undoubtedly, there would be time enough later for him to be fully attentive to the racking agony that would erupt in his skull.

Nick shook himself and glanced around the bathroom. Like almost everything else in Monroe’s life the small space was neat and all items arranged just so. The bathroom cabinet over the washbasin was wiped clean, the white surface gleaming, towels ordered in straight lines on the hangers.

It went without mentioning that a clock hung on the wall, though it was modern compared to the beautiful antiques Monroe usually worked on.

Nick’s smile died a little as he noticed the minute signs of the recent chaos in Monroe’s schedule: toothbrush not returned to its cup, shower bottle (herbal, natural) on its side on the shower floor instead of in the rack, underpants haphazardly piled on the bathroom counter-top.

Sadness tugged through Nick and he turned to meet Monroe’s assessing stare. As if he knew what Nick was thinking, Monroe waved a hand dismissively, “Trying out a new regime: organised chaos.”

“Really? Since when?”

Monroe considered, humming softly. “Ever since a Grimm waltzed – no barged – into my life. Quite a long period when you think about it.”

Nick snorted. _Yeah…okay then. We’re going with that. I can do that._

“I’m innocent.” Monroe’s eyebrows shot right up and his eyes went a little wild. “ _Innocent?_ Okay, Grimm. Time for that shower. Clearly we need to wash those cobwebs out, as they’re interfering with your brain functions.”

 “Sure Blutbad.” Nick glanced into the shower stall and a problem suddenly emerged, one he hadn’t given any consideration to. “Um…I’m not certain I can stand long-”

“Huh? Hey no Nick,” Monroe interrupted. “I’m going in with you. Don’t worry, your virtue is safe with me.”

Nick frowned. “That’s meant to be reassuring?”

The remark was worth it as Nick watched in fascination as Monroe flushed a lovely red colour and spluttered. He decided to take pity though, because the pain in his head was steadily growing.

“So, who first?”

Monroe stopped spluttering and coughed. “I better go first.” He was as good as his word, slowly removing his beige waistcoat, folding it carefully and placing the garment on the bathroom counter. He moved to unbutton his colourful blue and green shirt, each button as it slid through the hole revealing more of his boyfriend’s chest.

Nick was enthralled, he had never seen his friend without a shirt or any clothes. He just rued the fact that he was so drained that all sexual desires were banked. Yet he could still enjoy at least the knowledge that this was all his, that no-one else: Wesen or human, would touch Monroe or see Monroe like this again.

Monroe pulled off his shirt and Nick smiled as he saw the muscle ripple in his boyfriend’s arms. Monroe was not overtly muscular but he was nice and solid. Chest hair covered his upper chest, leading to a line of dark brown hair – fur? – down his stomach. Nick was grateful to see that Monroe’s belly wasn’t a ridiculous six-pack, but a trifle fleshy. It promised warmth and comfort when snuggling (Nick knew he would never say that out loud, the teasing would kill him).

Monroe shot an amused if embarrassed look at Nick that Nick returned with one of his own. He bent to take off his shoes and socks kicking them aside in a surprise gesture of carelessness. Monroe fumbled with his trouser belt before managing to yank the corduroy material off his legs. He hoped as he dragged the trousers off his feet and Nick rolled his eyes.

“Red boxers again Monroe? You are going to have to be honest with me one day and confess you are a masochist.”

Monroe glared at Nick, but with no real force behind it. Grunting he quickly slid his boxers down and Nick stopped laughing. He may be too physically ill to fully appreciate Monroe naked, but Nick did to some extent enjoy the view.

Fingers slid under his chin to raise his head. Nick hadn’t realised he had let his head fall. Monroe’s eyes were soft, full of love. “Hey man, it’s okay. I’m not in the mood either. That’s fine, better probably considering if I hurt you I’d be number one on the hit list of your police department and your personal Wesen army, so yeah…self-preservation for me and good for you too. Hold on Nick. We’ll get through this and it’ll be worth it.”

Nick swallowed, not caring he was on the verge of weeping. He really was a lucky bastard and the most fortunate Grimm in the entire World.

Monroe nodded as if reading his thoughts. Without saying another word he began undressing Nick.

For someone who was meant to be ripping out throats and eviscerating people Nick had always found Monroe gentle, unless protecting those he loved.

Now he utilised that care and attention Nick, slipping Nick’s jacket off, (Nick had forgotten he had been wearing it until this second), with the same concentration he gave a new clock commission.

“Raise your arms,” Monroe asked quietly. He noticed Nick’s grimace. “I’ll be quick,” he promised.

Nick inhaled sharply and did as he said, trying not to register the burn in his shoulders and biceps. Monroe was as good as his word and hurriedly peeled off his pullover shirt, yet Monroe somehow still managed in not allowing his fingers to prod or scrape Nick as the material was drawn away.

His shoes and socks were removed without any trouble and Monroe rested his large, calloused hands on Nick’s hips and smiled apologetically. “You have to stand Nick. Lean on me,” he added.

“Ah…we’ll see if you can take my massive weight,” joked Nick.

Monroe smiled. “Don’t let anyone know if I can’t. I’ll lose all my Blutbad cred otherwise.”

“Secret is safe with me,” swore Nick, more fervently than he intended. Red eyes glimmered at him in response.

Nick braced himself palms flat against Monroe’s bare shoulders and stood. His limbs shook and sweat beaded his brow. A stab of fear went through Nick’s soul and he squeezed his eyes shut and set his jaw.

“Easy there Nick,” whispered Monroe, voice a caressing rumble. “I’ve got you.”

Strong sure hands undid his trousers and pushed them down. Before Nick could shift his feet Monroe hooked his fingers into Nick’s briefs and pulled at them. Then he was standing, a friendly growl filling the small bathroom and suffusing Nick with warmth.

Monroe’s Blutbad nature was all but screaming out that Monroe was here and was going to protect him with everything he possessed.

Nick dropped his hands for it hurt to hold them up now that Monroe was standing and he felt Monroe’s arms encircle his back. Scarlet eyes with the faintest of brown peered into his own grey.

“Ready?” the growled question vibrated through Nick where their chests touched and he sighed. “Yes.”

“Okay. Just hold on.”

Next thing Nick knew was Monroe slipping an arm under his backside. Understanding flashed into Nick’s mind and he stood on tiptoe. Monroe grinned, a hint of fang appearing. With a gentle tug Nick’s feet were freed of his briefs and trousers and Monroe was lifting him into his arms.

Nick wrapped his legs around Monroe’s back and did his best to hang on with nails digging into his boyfriend’s neck. If it pained Monroe he did not show it. Instead he simply carried them into the shower, where the water was now a pleasant temperature.

Monroe lowered Nick to the shower floor and with one hand hastily shut the shower screen. Nick ensured he doubled his painful grip so he didn’t fall, though it was hardly likely with Monroe’s other arm bracing his back that he would collapse onto the shower floor.

The hot water trickled over his head and Nick blinked water out of his eyes.

“Oh, hey, sorry Nick.”

Monroe lifted Nick and the world spun as he positioned them so that the main force of the water hit Monroe’s back.

“How do you want to do this Nick?” asked Monroe. “Do you want to wash or I can…”

Nick smiled ruefully. “I’m not stupid or too proud to admit I can’t do it and need help Monroe.” Nick inhaled deeply. “I trust you.”

Monroe nodded curtly. If he were crying Nick politely avoided saying anything. Monroe deserved indulging in some tears, he was busy shouldering Nick’s burdens so the guy required a break, an outlet, a moment to give voice to his…emotions.

Nick leant more heavily against Monroe and shut his eyes.

He was so weary.

He felt Monroe’s hand stroke through his hair and over the nape of his neck. Monroe didn’t speak, just continued the low growl-rumble that echoed through Nick’s being, anchoring him to the world, so he didn’t float away in a tide of despair and hurt.

Monroe actually lowered them to the wet floor and as Nick rested for a moment Monroe fumbled for some objects. Then he was re-joining Nick on the wet surface.

Nick peered up at Monroe, his beard and hair were wet, straggling over his forehead, beard dripping.

Monroe’s expression was kind, if creased with concentration on the important task ahead.

Nick attempted to pull himself closer and was rewarded with Monroe sitting, opening his legs and pulling Nick into the heat of his body. It was slightly awkward and uncomfortable, but Nick couldn’t care less. Here, pressed into the furnace of Monroe’s body, the yielding flesh of Monroe’s belly and the lean certainty of his limbs, there was no dread.

The brush of a soapy rag was abruptly there, gliding over his back. Nick sighed.

A slick hand touched Nick’s head. “Lean back for a sec Nick.”

Nick smiled and obeyed. He met Monroe’s burning gaze with eyes probably just as wet as Monroe’s.

Monroe’s lips twitched and he wiped the rag over Nick’s chest, so soft, never missing a spot. When he reached Nick’s belly, Nick closed his eyes, his emotions a hot swell within.

Safety, comfort and love radiated from the rubbing actions of Monroe’s hands.

He felt Monroe draw away, only to whisper for Nick to hold out his arms. Nick kept his arms folded in front of his chest, but it was enough for Monroe to clean them.

Then he was urging Nick to stand, his embrace not allowing Nick to stumble or falter. The water was a flow over his back and shoulder rinsing away the soap and Monroe stood back a little to rub the soap off Nick’s chest.

He grinned at Nick. “Turn around,” he urged.

Nick shook his head. He was too tired to even do _that_ and how pathetic was that?

Monroe scowled. “Stop that,” he admonished.

 _Okay, Blutbaden do have psychic powers,_ thought Nick unbelievably. _Fuck, what have I got myself into?_

Watching Monroe’s ‘don’t mess with me’ expression, Nick thought, _A good time._

Monroe once again looped one arm around Nick’s middle, the other hand coming to rest on Nick’s shoulder and exerting hardly any pressure somehow tugged him around so his back was resting on Monroe’s slippery chest. The tickle of Monroe’s chest hairs were rather pleasant Nick discovered.

“Okay, once more into the breach,” teased Monroe and they sank to the floor.

This time, Nick was leaning his back against Monroe’s chest, their legs bent. Nick nearly swallowed his tongue as Monroe, after raising up a fresh lather of soap, applied the rag to the inside of his legs. Nick wanted to watch even though he winced at how thin he looked. His sensitive skin prickled as Monroe ran the rag back and forth.

Monroe didn’t pause in his motions, simply tugging Nick this way and that so he could reach all of Nick’s leg and at one point Nick’s foot and how the hell did Monroe succeed in making poking between Nick’s toes, look like an act of complete devotion?

The Blutbad abandoned the rag for a bottle and Nick didn’t have to be told to shut his eyes. A second later hands were raking through his hair and Nick caught a glimpse at how one of Monroe’s clocks must feel (if they could experience sensation that is): the focus and care were overwhelming. The calloused fingers were precise in their work, massaging his scalp and working the shampoo into his hair with measured movements. Every step Monroe prevented the mixture from getting into Nick’s eyes.

When Monroe leant back, tilting Nick’s head, he still ensured that the spray of water wasn’t too harsh, just right to rinse the shampoo out of his hair.

Monroe then resumed their initial position and Nick felt him rest his cheek on top of his bedraggled mess of dark locks.

Nick wasn’t sure how much time passed before Monroe stirred, sighing as he did. “I still need to finish washing you Nick.”

Nick was momentarily bewildered why Monroe was mentioning the obvious, until he realised to what Monroe was referring. Even now Nick was surprised at how easily embarrassed he could become.

Hadn’t they already been through so much?

In reply to Monroe’s unasked question Nick said, “Are you waiting for an invitation?”

A growl shook both their bodies. “No.”

Nick smiled exhaustedly as he was lifted to his feet. Braced against Monroe’s chest he pushed his head under Monroe’s chin, happy to feel the weight pressing down.

Monroe’s hands slid to his groin and Nick sighed. If he were himself he would definitely be aroused. As it was, he could only dwell in the intimacy of Monroe’s grip, the strength in the glide over his length and the heart-wrenching tenderness as he cupped Nick’s balls, washing them clean.

Then Monroe laid his forearm across Nick’s belly, the weight almost painful, yet still calming, the fingers of his hand brushing Nick’s hip. His other hand slid between their bodies and stroked over his cheeks.

Nick breathed shallowly but didn’t utter a sound. Monroe massaged the firm flesh and Nick determined that one day he would be able to become hard at this. Nick pressed back trying to give voice to his desire.

 “Nick.” The murmur was wet and hot on the side of his neck. Fangs pinpricked his delicate flesh.

“Please Monroe, just want – need – you.”

He could sense Monroe’s doubt and worry.

“Nothing more, just a touch,” he insisted. Nick knew when Monroe consented, his mouth fixing on Nick’s neck.

Monroe’s hand disappeared and then returned. “Hold on” he mumbled into Nick’s skin. Nick didn’t reply just relaxed, spreading his jello like legs further apart.

Monroe’s fingers squirmed in-between his cheeks and one digit brushed over his sensitive hole. Nick breathed more heavily. Monroe rubbed over his hole causing it to spasm. Very slowly he dipped the blunt tip of one finger in.

Nick couldn’t help but squirm. Monroe lapped at skin and Nick shivered. Monroe pulled out then dipped in again, this time wriggling his digit, until he had sunk in to the joint.

Nick pushed his neck up and Monroe sweetly mouthed at the offered flesh, soothing him. Nick grunted as Monroe pushed all the way in, twisted and pulled out then pushed in again. He kept this up until the action was no longer burning but a peculiarly welcoming intrusion.

Nick wanted to whine. There was a spark in his belly, not of desire exactly – more the happy acknowledgement that Monroe was doing this, that Monroe was sharing this private secret place in Nick’s body.

Monroe slid another finger in, slick and wonderful and Nick shuddered for it was if he was laid bare in front of Monroe, trust and hope all tangled in one, with Monroe grazing his neck with fangs in-between sloppy kisses – a sign of the affect this was having on Monroe, of being inside Nick, of sharing this with him – he felt cherished.

Monroe exhaled and pulled free. Nick mourned the loss of Monroe’s fingers but he understood why. They had been long enough in the shower.

“Hey,” Nick grinned at the roughness in Monroe’s timbre. “I think we better get out otherwise we’ll turn into prunes.”

“Hmmm…”

Monroe laughed shakily and fumbled behind him to turn off the shower. He pulled open the shower door and gathered Nick into his arms once more. Nick relaxed as they stepped out of the shower, though the cold air made him burrow into the heat of his boyfriend.

Monroe dried him with the same devotion he had displayed in the shower, wrapping Nick in an overly large bathrobe. This left Monroe without a bathrobe but Nick didn’t consider that a dire sufferance.

Muttering at Grimms who stole clothing from innocent Blutbaden Monroe cradled Nick in his arms and carried him through to Monroe’s bedroom.

Nick glanced weakly around the room, his headache which had been temporarily forgotten beginning to cloud his mind and vision.   

It was cosy and the bed an enticing den of covers and blankets. Monroe lowered him onto one side and hurriedly flipped back the myriad covers, their colours singing out. He cleared his throat as he looked at Nick.

“Um…I kind of planned us sleeping together…?”

Nick would have laughed if he had the strength. “Yeah…because after letting you do _that_ to me in the shower I’m going to permit you to sleep anywhere but beside me.”

Monroe grinned so wide, Nick thought his face may split in half. “Cool. Um, I’ve also the downstairs set up in case you don’t always feel like climbing upstairs.”

Nick sighed in gratefulness at Monroe’s natural awkwardness and his delicateness at not openly stating that Nick was hardly capable of walking through the living room let alone managing the stairs.

Strong hands slipped under him and Nick found himself snuggled under the covers and in a moment of time where he had shut his eyes, too overcome to think, he heard Monroe suddenly whispering for him to wake up.

Nick blinked and focused blearily on Monroe sitting on the edge. A pill and glass of water were in his hands.

“How..?” he croaked.

Monroe raised an eyebrow. “Blutbad nose.”

“Hmpf.”

Nick accepted the pill. Monroe bent over him and brushed their noses together. “Sleep Nick, I’ll be back with soup later.”

“And you?”

“Yes. A legion of Grimms couldn’t hold me away.”

“Love you too.”

“Sleep Nick.”

Nick’s eyes fluttered shut. A clawed hand brushed his hair. As he tumbled into darkness he heard Monroe murmur, “I love you Grimm.”

 

_\- Six months later -_

There was a clock in Doctor Francis’ office. Nick focused on it, the purple hour hand (and really, where had the doctor managed to unearth a clock with _purple hands_?) clicked into position at four o’clock as he watched.

The picture the hands moved over was that of a red fox emblazoned against verdant grass.

Nick wasn’t sure whether the final display was pretty or too bewildering for the eye. He did know however, that he was using the clock as a distraction from the news that he and Monroe had come to hear.

Monroe…Nick peeked at Monroe sitting faithfully at his side. Monroe looked the same as ever, solid and loyal. His expression was one of calm, brown eyes virtual wells of tranquillity. The only sign perhaps of any stress or agitation was the manner in which Monroe held himself in his seat: straight-backed with an aura of determination clinging to his frame.

Yet the months had granted Monroe a peculiar serenity and his features no longer flickered so readily between wolf and human visages – his Blutbad nature was reigned in. Nick combed his eyes over his lover’s hair – grey flecks intermingled in the rich chocolate locks, another symbol of the toll that the months of stress had taken on Monroe.

The old guilt snaked through Nick, but it was a mere whisper of the crushing guilt he used to suffer at causing so much anguish in the Blutbad he cared for – loved – so profoundly. Weeks of Monroe stripping it out of him had eventually worn him down and Nick with his guilt had admitted defeat. So, yes, only a shadow remained, still haunting the exhausted Grimm.

Monroe turned to meet his obsessive gaze and smiled warmly. It still shocked and humbled Nick greatly that Monroe actually gave a damn for him and willingly endured the horrible twists and turns of Nick’s illness with him.

Nick smiled in return and weakly held out his right hand. Monroe gently wrapped his own around his and Nick sighed.

How pale and thin his hand was compared to Monroe’s. His skin was almost translucent, the veins blue reliefs against the ghostly shell. His fingers were like sticks of brittle twigs, dying in the autumn, ready for winter.

Meanwhile, Monroe’s hand was warm, vibrant with life: blood full under the bronzed skin, fingers strong and hand sure. Nick swallowed.

It was a reminder of how much the cancer had eaten away at his body and how the chemotherapy had eked out even more vigour from his already embattled body.

Nick knew that without the support of Monroe and all his friends his soul would be crushed as well.

They had all shored him up during the long hours that he had spent, sick, vomiting from the latest doses of chemo, or embraced him as he sobbed –eventually dry tears – from setback after set-back and plied him and Monroe with stories, anecdotes, and food.

Holly, she was vivacious and fierce in her belief that Nick _would_ live, while Roddy grew more and more frenzied with his music – soul pouring forth his anger and hope. Mr Rabe too had been more than helpful, changing both their wills and simply being there for Nick’s latest rant.

Mitsy and her motley crew as Monroe liked to call them (though Nick noticed that his grumbling contained a certain begrudging respect and gratefulness), prowled their house, ensuring no surprise visitors could announce themselves and occasionally providing a purring blanket of relief and soothing healing (even for a panicked Blutbad who had found an indomitable ‘pussycat’ taking up residence on his lap following a particularly highly-strung session).

Hank…well Hank was Hank. He kept Nick in the loop and was there whenever Monroe needed to pop out (especially in the last two months when Nick had become too weak to be left alone for long), or required a short reprieve – something Nick insisted he have, yet simultaneously resented him for.

Nick loathed sometimes how his condition made him swing back and forth with his emotions like an out-of-control swing in a park.

Somehow though, Monroe even when he was busy being screamed at or ranted or pleaded with, never threatened to leave, nor tore Nick’s throat out like a good Blutbad. No, Monroe instead loved Nick and when Nick was in a black mood either understood he required time to express his coiled feeling of dread, terror and despair or rarely, left leave him alone to cool off.

Wetness trickled over his cheeks and Nick bent his head, breathing shallowly. He had to gain control of himself.

He heard the rustle of clothing and then Monroe was flush against him, arm barely putting weight over his back, yet still instilling a sense of security. Nick was drawn into the welcome heat of his Blutbad, the warmth and support beacons of love…

…also very much a symbol of hope.

Nick rubbed his cheeks.

“Hmmm…” No words, just a murmur and a low rumble. All that Nick yearned for right now.

Monroe rested his cheek on top of Nick’s bowed head and Nick closed his eyes. Monroe’s cheek against his scarf radiated comfort. The loss of his hair had been frightening at first and Nick had spent hours staring blankly in the mirror **not recognising his own face**.

 _Who the fuck is that in the mirror?_ Had been Nick’s terrified thought.

It had run around in Nick’s mind like the words to a song you couldn’t forget; except that there were no words to describe how the loss of your hair felt. How not recognising your own reflection was worse than a bullet wound. Nor how peering into the glassy surface and espying sunken cheeks, grey skin and wild eyes with a grey that was dull like a bleak sea, was akin to envisioning your death.

It was hardly better now, though Nick had accepted his loss of hair with equanimity. The other blows had been harder to cope with, to understand.

“Good afternoon Nick, Monroe.”

Doctor Francis re-entered his office, hand clasping a file.

There was a genuine smile on his face. Nick instantly stomped on the hope that threatened to spread wings. Hope…it was like the phoenix, consequently rising out of the burned ashes of therapies, medicines and alternative solutions.

Monroe’s grip tightened ever so little.

Doctor Francis sat in his chair and opened the file and clicked at his computer screen. He turned to face them both and Nick saw the light that shone clear in the blue gaze.

“I have some promising news gentlemen.”

The barest tremble shivered through Monroe. Nick felt it. His own heart stubbornly denied him and thumped: hard.

“Yes?” Nick marvelled at how steady Monroe’s voice was – how did he do it?

Dr Francis actually grinned. “All the blood tests show that the cancer is in remission.”

Nick blinked. _Huh?_

“Pardon?” hissed Monroe, façade crumbling. “Did you say…remission?”

Dr Francis nodded. “I wouldn’t joke Monroe. Nick, we have tested and re-tested. The signs are all the same, the chemotherapy coupled with the medication is working.”

It was too much. A flood erupted and Nick doubled over gasping and choking. Somehow, through his tears he wheezed out: “I …have – have a real chance?”

“Yes Nick. I believe you do.”

The growl that snarled out of Monroe made Nick want to cry even more and he twisted trying to bury himself into Monroe’s chest. He felt the dizzying joy of Monroe engulfing him in his unwavering arms and the sobbing wonder and hope repeated like a mantra over him and through him:

“A chance, a real chance Nick. Yes…oh please…a chance. _Nick._ Man…”

Dr Francis was speaking in the background somewhere, “There is still a long journey ahead gentlemen, but if we keep fighting then Nick – you have a good chance of recovery.”

Monroe sloppily kissed Nick’s crown, but Nick tilted his face and laughing Monroe swooped down and kissed him on the lips.

The bubble of awe and relief frothed in Nick’s chest and if he had the energy he would have howled in happiness. Better leave that to Monroe.

Nick knew that he wasn’t in the all-clear; that this was tentative and he had to continue battling every step of the way but now he had hope.

The phoenix had spread its wings and was soaring up high.

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> (i) Grimm doesn't reveal Mrs Clark's first name so I chose one for the purpose of this fiction.
> 
> (ii) I have been deliberately vague about what type of cancer Nick has for two reasons: (a) The Show itself never went into the type of cancer Aunt Marie was suffering from so I followed in-line.  
> (b) Cancer is a terrible disease, therefore I also wished to leave the actual form Nick has ambiguous, so that those reading could draw their own conclusions and in some situations relate with their own experiences of this disease. I assure you, no disrespect is intended by this aspect of the story, only the acknowledgement that many have either suffered or have had those who suffered/are suffering/ with cancer (I include myself in this bracket of having family members who have suffered), so this is more a choice of allowing people an opportunity to take what they wish from this fic.
> 
> In respect of the notes above, the form of medication for Nick remained vague, though this is also half due to the fact that the treatments for various cancers are diverse and in some respects depend on the form.
> 
> (iii) Darkest Hour was my first Fanfic in Grimm fandom. To have it finished is amazing and not a little breath-taking. When I first saw the prompt I winced as the subject matter is one that usually makes me speed on by – the topic hits close to home family wise. So when the prompt suddenly gripped me and wouldn’t let me go, instead growing steadily until I couldn’t ignore the persistent buzz that compelled me to write this fic, I was stunned and before I knew it I was writing a response.
> 
> I’m still slightly shocked, but pleased. I hope I have approached the illness, cancer, with respect for all and in doing so have succeeded in answering the prompt. This has been a catharsis in some ways and at no point during this story did I wish to be melodramatic or come off glib. 
> 
> This is a long winded manner of saying thank you to the original prompter for submitting such an idea, for the chance to write this – it has been emotional. I hope I managed to write something you liked. :)
> 
> Thank you also to all who commented: every single one of you has been a great encouragement giving me confidence that I was heading in the right direction! It helped me continue on when I was nervous and doubted my efforts.
> 
> Last, but never least, thank you to my beta rae_fa for supporting me and reassuring me that I was not wandering off the path and ensuring that especially at the beginning that I had something here. The Darkest Hour is better for you.
> 
> Long Author’s Notes so I’ll stop now and hope everyone had a good read and thank you to all who commented/may comment!


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